


trggrfngr

by hellhoundsprey



Series: triggerfinger!verse [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Biker Daddy Jeff, Biting, Bullying, Casual Sex, Choking, Coming of Age, First Time, Fisting, Grief/Mourning, Insanitary Everything, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mechanic Jeff, Metalhead Jared, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Orgy, Past Character Death, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Slurs, Speech Disorders, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Emotional Trauma, Unsafe Sex, Verse Jared, Vomiting, as in jared bottoms with jeff but tops the occasional omc, gay jeff, pain slut Jared, pan jared, top Jeff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: The Padaleckis’ new neighbor has questionable influence on their son, Jared. (Jared is 17, Jeff is 38.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TransSoftboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransSoftboy/gifts).



> I wrote this story from Jan 15 to March 04; aka in 7 weeks. It wouldn’t have been possible without my beta reader/editor Silver. So, again, here: I cannot thank you enough. You work so hard and I couldn’t wish for better help. Thank you for enduring my pushing-scenes-around madness and weird-ass phrases.
> 
> This entire mess is dedicated to J because he’s a mess too (his words, not mine). Thank you for enduring my ramblings throughout the making of all of this, for your comments and thoughts and being the awesome inspiring bundle of fun that you are.
> 
> ~
> 
>  **Regarding triggers/warnings/tags:** Let me point out some things because the tags alone might not get them across:
> 
> \- Lack of communication: The communication about consent is mostly non-existent throughout the entire story. However, I decided _not_ to tag dubcon/non-con—nobody is harmed, everyone is having a good ol’ time. **But do not try any of this shit at home.**
> 
> \- Verse Jared: Jared is a strict bottom with Jeff; that’s just their individual dynamic in this particular setting. Jared _does_ top several OMCs though, later on. So if you have a strict preference for either top or bottom Jared, this is not the story for you.
> 
> \- Self-harm: This fic thematizes cutting/slicing/scratching/burning of the skin as a method of self-harm. And, given the “pain slut jared” tag, kind of sexualizes it—but only ever from Jared’s POV itself.
> 
> \- Non-consensual voyeurism: Jared spies on Jeff and his partners without their knowledge or consent. After finding out eventually, Jeff does give _his_ consent—but does not care to inform (all of) his partners. _See “lack of communication”._
> 
> \- Insanitary everything: We’re talking unsafe sex, dirty sheets, shit on dicks and fingers, filthy bathrooms, poking and prodding at bloody wounds with dirty fingers, shit under fingernails, etc etc. Everyone is filthy! (What’s new?)
> 
> Somehow, this fic rounded up to just over 50k. There won’t be much fucking in the first half, but oh boy, the second half makes up for it. Anyway: enjoy your stay.

Pros and cons of living in a fucking godforsaken small-ass town.

Cons.

No car? You’re fucked.  
No fast food joints.  
Old people everywhere.  
Everybody knows you.

Pros.

No, seriously. You’re fucked.

The only good thing about summer is that Eve is free to wear all her short, low-cut shit that school condemns as inappropriate. Yesterday’s top had a different neckline than today’s dress, and Jared keeps dropping his eyes to the tan line on her tits.

They could as well be out in the desert. But even the desert is too far. There’s just nothing, and nothing, and nothing.

They could as well be walking on the moon right now.

Family gatherings. Barbecues. The air is slimy with burnt animal fat and Good Mother laughter. Eve squeezes his hand just a little more.

The circle comes to a full close back in the frayed-out edges of town, where you fall left and there’s the forest and you fall right and there’s the trailer park. Fucking kids and assholes on the left, playing and bathing and being assholes in the river, and Eve’s home on the right, so he lets her pout at him, pull him back up the street.

The Padaleckis moved here between child two and three, and even though Jeff’s been dead for five and a half years now, they’re staying. Jared will never understand why.

“We could chill in your basement.” She offers it in that tone of indifference that means he’s getting a knee to his balls if he tells her no. “We can kill each other, if you wanna. Or make out or something.”

Attractive options.

~

It’s like a clockwork. Five thirty-three—boom.

Mom’s at the curtains so fucking fast. “There he is again.” The bike is so loud it might as well be parking in their living room. Mom is secure behind daisy lace. “Asshole.”

It’s pretty fucking awesome. Not Mom, swearing like a sailor. Well, actually, that too, but: the bike. Jared didn’t even know it was his lifelong dream to own one. Not until he saw it in number four sixty-three’s driveway. Unannounced, out of place. Simply there.

Jared lifts his eyes from the dishwasher in time to see Mr. Asshole climb off her. Always in jeans, leather jacket. There’s brands that sell clothes matching your bike. How cool is that? He’d get one like that, if he could. When. When, not if.

Eve hates bikes. Death machines, she calls them, even though that sounds like pretty much the most perfect thing in the entire world. You can scrape your entire face off on the asphalt if you fall, that happens all the time, did you know that, Jared?

God, Jared would be _glad_ to have his fucking face scraped off.

She makes him wait with her in the curb, though. Forces him, really, her curiosity getting the best of her (and thus him). So they sit, and wait, and Jared’s halfway through smoke number three since she insisted on being early. Even though he told her he’s never early, if they get out at thirty-two they’ll be fine. But, hell. She’s got the dark red lipstick and the black lace frilly-shit top on today.

His name’s not actually Mr. Asshole, of course. It’s Morgan. Said so on the bills in his post box Jared happened to inspect once the guy had been settled enough he started receiving mail. JD Morgan and his bike which Jared doesn’t know the brand of yet since Morgan goes to work with her, and takes her for a ride most evenings, too. And Jared’s too much of a fucking pussy to spy around the house when the guy’s home, so.

Morgan and his loud, beautiful bike.

It’s even louder outside. And blacker. And shinier.

Morgan’s a beefy guy. Jeans, again, leather jacket, again. He slows her to a halt, gets one foot down to kill the engine, takes his helmet off.

He’s turning to look over his shoulder right when Jared’s cigarette decides to burn down to where it’s wedged so cool and easy between his fingers. Because God hates Jared Padalecki.

Jared yelps, which makes Eve scream, and flicks the fucking thing into the gutter, and shakes the burn out of his hand.

“That, buddy, was a sign. A revelation from above.”

Jared’s eyes burn, and his face burns, and his fingers burn, and his shoulder where Eve punched him. He looks up through the jungle of his bangs and sees Morgan, grinning down at them from across the street.

“That shit’s gonna kill you,” he says, grabs his shit out of the back of his bike, snaps it closed, locks it, and turns his back to them to take the last few steps to his front door.

The house swallows him up and leaves the bike, and Jared, and Eve out in the returning coma of the street.

Jared sucks his fingers into his mouth and glares. Asshole.

~

Jared’s done worse things than stealing a motorbike. Jared’s got suspension notes to show and a file in the records so big it takes up, like, half the drawer. Okay, maybe a third. A fifth. Anyways.

Setting the Bonner’s cat on fire had felt much sicker than this does. Then again, he’s just standing in the driveway.

Right in front of her. Basically there. She’s right there. Still warm from earlier. It’s been such a cruel hot day. If he keeps her in the garage in the winter? What if it started to rain? Would he run out and take her in? Do you even need to do that with a bike? Well, probably not.

The lights are out. One AM. Surely the fucker’s asleep by now. Always leaves at eight twenty. It’s a weekday night, Jared checked. Fucking summer break and its absent meaning of time.

He reaches one hand out, sure and steady, and wraps it around one of her handles. Rough. She feels rough.

He moves around her like he is about to climb her. Still has one hand on her, puts on the other, now, and just holds her. Like he would do if he was driving.

So close, she’s impressive. Jared realizes now she must be heavy, way heavier than him. Tries getting her a little more upright, gentle first not to make a sound and with more grit once he realizes he isn’t moving her at all. She barely budges.

The first story window snaps open and Jared’s hands fly off the machine.

“Seriously?”

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

Morgan squints down at him. Sleep-deprived voice, topless, he’s leaning out with both forearms on the windowsill. The streetlight is too far away to reach them here.

“In case you think you’re being sneaky: you’re not.”

“I, I wasn’t—”

“Look, if you wanna take her out for a bit, just ask.”

Jared’s heart skips out of line for a second. He hesitates. “…Really?”

“No. And now _fuck off_.”

Jared spins around. His steps are extra-wide.

Morgan hollers after him. “C’mon, chop chop! Jesus Christ.”

The window rams back shut, and Jared swallows while jogging.

~

It’s been some time since he’s been to church. Jared can watch the worst horror shit, but coming near that place is driving honest to god shivers down his spine. Pathetic. But what can you do. No use in going back now. Even more so since Eve would probably castrate him for it.

The trees still have most of their leaves at this point of summer, so the fort still feels remote, hidden in the distance. Mom would have to be seriously pissed to hike after him for twenty minutes.

There’s no isolation in this thing, naturally, but the forest is cooled down just enough. He’s got blankets and a reasonable stash of snacks in here; soda, porn. Eve’s at Disney World with her family for the weekend.

The newest issue of _Easyriders_ thrones in Jared’s lap (unpaid for). He’s flicking through the pages with _Blood Circus_ reverberating in the too-empty space between his ears, one thumb flirting with the top button of his jeans.

Nobody came for him by noon. It’s one of those days—beating off, sleeping, eating, beating off, sleeping. He could be louder out here compared to his room if he wanted to but he rarely plays on that. His own voice freaks him out. There’s a lot about Jared that Jared doesn’t like.

At six twenty, Meg’s parked in front of the TV, and Mom’s in the kitchen. Jared slips next to her and washes his hands before grabbing a beer from the fridge.

A knock on the cellar door.

“What is it.”

Jared peeks the beer in first, not his head.

When Dad doesn’t say no, that’s a yes.

Down the stairs, free hand on the railing. The only light illuminates Dad’s desk, his head, his front. Dad scoots back some to get a view over the entirety of today’s work, rubs his eyes with the one and receives the beer with the other hand.

Jared curls his fingers just around the edge of the table. “How’s it going.”

“Slow,” says Dad.

“Dinner’s almost done.”

“Hm.”

“Can I watch? Until she calls.”

“Hm,” Dad says, chin in hand, far away. “What time is it anyway?”

“Six thirty.”

Dad whistles and takes another sip of beer before he gets back to work.

Every Padalecki has a hobby. Like it’s imprinted in their genes, a necessity. Mom and her guns, Megan and cheering, Jared and his dick, Dad and his model railroads. It used to be baseball, for Jeff.

There is no other chair down here, so Jared remains standing at a safe distance so as not to disturb the careful movements it obviously takes to assemble thumbnail-sized pieces of machinery.

Modern trains would be easier with their sleek surfaces an’ all that. No wheels for those either. But Dad’s maybe into it—the many crooks and gaps and holes and many, many, many tiny pieces. Old shit that nobody uses anymore out there in the real world but for its nostalgic effect. Timeless, pointless, the world seems to have come to a standstill down here.

Mom doesn’t call them up for another twenty minutes.

~

Jared’s window faces the street. No perk in that except that stupid fantasy someone might be watching him jerking off. But he’s on the first floor and the house opposite to theirs is too far away to really peep into.

(Except if they’d use binoculars, maybe.)

There’s not much traffic. Except for Morgan taking off in the mornings, returning in the evenings.

Jared built the habit of getting up early-ish—aka drag himself to the window—to watch Morgan beelining for his bike. He’s a determined guy. Always the same movements. Meticulous. Kinda psycho. (But then again Eve makes him watch too many fucked up movies.)

Morgan doesn’t spot him for the biggest part of summer. The moment he _does_ , Jared slips down the wall so quick he gets friction burn on his shoulder from the fucking wallpaper. A last brave glance just around the window frame shows Morgan, smiling up at him, flipping him the bird.

~

There’s a point in self-pity where you finally have enough of your own bullshit and start _doing_ something.

He’s not there yet.

He spends the weekend pretty much out in the curb in front of their house, smoking, eye-fucking the asshole-neighbor’s goddamn bike.

How much that must have cost. How many dogs to walk, how many lawns to mow? Jared’s not really good with either dogs or lawns.

The sun burns him from three PM on. The shade keeps him until then but he couldn’t give less of a damn, really. Eve says maybe her nana will die soon, and Jared can’t bring himself to go cheer her up, so. This is his life.

Behind him, in their house, Meg is on the phone, watches TV. He can hear her all the way out here. Her cheerful just-teenaged nag of a voice, the shrill laughter. Morgan’s house, on the other hand, is very quiet. Like it’s watching him right back, guarding its secrets.

Jared spends these days listening. Drinking soda after soda, bringing the empty cans in only once Mom threatens him through the open kitchen window.

Morgan hasn’t left the house all weekend. Jared doesn’t blame him.

The front door opens at nine PM, Sunday.

Jared steels himself. Pinches his smoke tighter and wraps one arm around himself for more stability. Morgan’s slicking his hair back, goes to check on his bike. Wife beater, sweatpants, sandals. He looks as pathetic as any other asshole.

Morgan wipes some dust off her with his bare hand, and turns to start walking towards Jared.

Jared tries his best to keep his cool. Ignores that the guy’s slumping down right next to him, close enough to share body heat without touching. He sucks on his cigarette.

“So,” Morgan says. “You’d tell me if my house was haunted, right?”

Jared hesitates. Eyes him, and frowns. “Why would it be.”

“You tell me. I just moved here.”

They consider the house together.

The cicadas are blaring all around them, indifferent to the smoke.

Jared fishes for the remnants of his current soda can and mumbles, “It’s not. Not haunted.”

“What a shame.” Jared gets an elbow into his side. “Hey, mind if I have one? Mh. Thanks.”

Jared watches him drink, and drink, and drink. Belching, after, and smiling, eyes barely grazing Jared at all.

“You really fell for her, huh.”

Eyes back to the driveway. “She’s—it’s beautiful. A great machine.”

“You have a license yet?”

Jared’s heart skips. “Uh. No.” He doesn’t have to tell him that, but, “I’m—m-my parents won’t lemme practice, so. I’m saving up, for.”

Morgan turns to examine the Padalecki’s cars out in the driveway, then turns to Jared, and looks confused. He thumbs over his shoulder, at the cars. “They’re worried about _those_?”

Jared feels his mouth pulling into a crooked smile.

“What about your little girlfriend. What about her, her parents?”

“They can’t afford it.”

“They can’t afford a fucking _car_?”

Jared shakes his head.

Morgan whistles and takes another sip from his soda. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and scratches through his beard.

Eyes on the house. “Why do I always end up in these godforsaken white trash shitholes. Maybe I belong here, huh?”

Jared isn’t sure if he’s being addressed, so he doesn’t reply.

~

Eve is coffee, black, so black and so strong you feel more of a man drinking it. Black coffee and a fresh razor. And soft lips, and the unmistakable scent of _girl_. That is Eve.

Eve is also blood, and going commando, and tying-untying tongues.

Jared’s not the only person she hears stuttering.

“She’s the sweetest thing,” Eve says. “You wanna come over and watch?”

Jared is the kind of boy that’s best when hidden in a closet. Or under a bed. God, he loves it when she tells him to hide under their _beds_.

Daddy’s girls, princesses. Pink and frills and sometimes there are dolls stuffed away down here, crinkly plastic bags like Barbie-filled mines and Jared can be so, so quiet. Close your eyes and think of something nice. (He doesn’t even have to _think_.)

Eve showed him the stuff she does to them that makes them lose it so pretty. Crooks her fingers and points out, “Like _that_ ,” like Jared the idiot is still mirroring it wrong. The hottest shit was that one time she played with his tits to demonstrate the ‘correct way’. But Eve likes C cups, and Jared’s a minus A at most.

No, scratch that. Dana. The hottest goddamn thing was Dana.

Back when Eve still thought she’d have to go out of her way to please Jared in order to keep him by her side. When she _told_ the girl, actually _told_ her about him, and she hesitated, of course, but she was lost at that point already and said yes and Jared knows what that feels like.

Jared’s never felt as invisible as he felt back then, perched on the edge of Dana’s rolling chair with the two girls on the bed right in front of him. Held his breath through most of it, he remembers that, and maybe it damaged him some more but god. God. Eve shredded both Dana’s and his heart by breaking up with her a week later.

Jared kisses her forehead, her nose. Cuddles her close and closer, her tight little tummy obscured by the oversized tee Jared always lends her when she sleeps over and his fingers touch around her waist. His hands have always been kinda obscurely huge.

“We should break into his house,” she hums, her fingers twirling through his hair. “Just take the keys. Knock him out, or something. Just get out there, take the bike.” They’re both half-asleep. “You’d take me away,” she sighs, “right?”

~

There’s a car in Morgan’s driveway. Jared has to check twice, but, yeah. A car.

A decent car, too.

He doesn’t know what to make of it. Broods over it until after noon, until he can’t take it anymore, and slips out of the house.

Sharp left turn, he heads for the forest.

He can’t exactly walk up the yard now, can he.

A huge circle should do it. Make your way through the woods, the garden isn’t fenced, no problemo. Jared is already crawling by the time he realizes what he’s doing.

He comes to a standstill, surrounded by rotting dry leaves and insects and Morgan’s house is coming into view but to really see (and _be_ seen) would take quite another few feet.

What the hell are you doing? How old are you, four?

He should get up, dust himself off. Pick the dirt out of his underwear and go home. What are you _doing_?

Jared crawls on. Stray bushes—last neighbors’ leftovers—conveniently rowing the garden help overcoming the last distance. Jared’s heart hammers into the dirt. He peers at the house from underneath the bush; those tall glass French doors to the living room. Jared tries to remember the interior from when the Meyers used to live here. They’ve had barbecues with them, they babysat a couple times. Jared had knocked his head on that corner of the patio once, pretty bad, bled like a pig. Had been pretty fucking awesome.

He can’t make out much at all and squints harder. There’s movement, or is there?

What the hell are you _doing_?

The curtains aren’t drawn. One half of a sofa, and there’s a guy sitting there, definitely not Morgan because Morgan walks in from Jared’s right (kitchen), hands him a beer, settles in next to him and fumbles with a remote. They turn to stare at the wall. TV. They’re watching TV.

Jared keeps observing them from afar. His excitement wears off eventually, leaving him itchy and dirty, chin nestled on top of his forearm. They’re talking, every now and then. Morgan replaces empty beers in his usual jeans and barefoot. Lazy, dragging steps. Well, it’s the weekend after all, huh.

Jared stays until they turn off the TV and leave the room.

~

Somewhere around grade two or three, when pictures in books became less common and everyone started getting hectic and OCD about tests, school mysteriously started losing its charm. Jared only keeps going there because his parents won’t stop threatening to throw him out the day he turns eighteen. At least finish high school, oh honey, why do you make it so hard on yourself?

People are leaving them alone (for the most part) ever since puberty hit Eve, hard. Jared might be a loser but at least he’s not one of those assholes asking her out first and calling her a whore the second she tells them ‘no’. She’s been revenge-fucking most of their sisters by now. It’s a small fucking town.

“I can’t believe we’re stuck here for another two years. I might kill myself for next summer, Jare.”

She peels at the split ends of her raven-black hair, and Jared picks at one of the scabs on his shin. She slaps his hand away, chastises, “Don’t,” and, “Let me do that.”

They know each other too fucking well. Eve is more of a sister than his real sister. Born-apart twins. He knows how her mouth tastes, what she looks like without makeup on, on what kind of candy she lost her first baby tooth. He could talk to her about Jeff, if he wanted that. She knew him.

Her nail polish is chipped on all of her fingertips and she hacks the scab off slow like he likes it. Choppy and imperfect. Blood bubbles up fresh between healed patches. They watch it running down, zig-zagging around the many hairs on Jared’s leg until it’s dried too much to keep going.

Morgan’s bike in the driveway feels like an old friend, at this point. Or a wife. Jared keeps his eyes on her until he inevitably has to turn to open the door.

“How was your first day, huh?”

Jared shrugs while he shovels cereal into his face.

“Any cool new kids?”

“Like they would hang out with _him_ ,” and Mom shushes, “ _Megan_!” but smiles at her nevertheless. Back to Jared, hands on her hips. She stopped telling him not to ruin his appetite before dinner ever since his body decided to grow him into a walking stick-figure. “How’s Eve?”

“Fine,” says Jared, and goes to dump the dirty bowl into the dishwasher before grabbing his backpack from where he tossed it into the corridor, heads upstairs.

“Dinner’s in another hour!” hollers Mom, and Jared has turned his stereo up even before he’s closed the door.

~

Summer bucket list of 2005.

Get laid.  
Go to the beach.  
Get a summer job (cinema?).  
Work out every day.

The page hasn’t made it out of his notebook yet.

~

Five thirty-three.

There he is again. “There he is again.”

Like thunder. Like a growling beast. Like something that can kill you.

Jared watches from the sofa, his head hanging over its back like a broken toy. Morgan, all leather and denim, and always his back is turned.

That asshole. “What an asshole.”

Mom should know better than knocking on his door after he’s locked himself in post-dinner. But he’s still got his pants on this time, barks, “Yeah?” and turns the music to a low whisper. Door ajar just enough so she can’t see past him, and she says, “Jared,” like she’s had enough, even though he doesn’t remember doing anything. “Jared, you do me a favor and tell that maniac across the street to keep it down. It’s a school night, for Christ’s sake.”

“I don’t hear nothing.”

“Because your so-called ‘music’ is turning you deaf, young man. Now go, and tell him I’ll be calling the cops if he doesn’t wanna listen!”

Jared squints. “Why _me_.”

“Because I’m _telling_ you!”

He locks his room after himself, key in his pocket, day-old long-sleeved shirt pulled over his head in a hurry. He doesn’t bother to put on his flip-flops and jogs across the street, rounds the house from the left. (Sees the bushes he’d been hiding in those few days ago before he sees anything else.)

There’s definitely music and conversation going on but really not enough to be bitching about it like she insists. A grill is idly smoking on the grass and there’s three guys, including Morgan, out on the patio. What looks like a normal dinner table has been pulled out, along with three mismatched chairs. Jared, walking into this scene, doesn’t know what or whom to look at first, and freezes in place once they notice him emerging from the shadow of the early night.

The chatter dies, leaving only AC/DC hammering from inside the house. Three sets of eyes are on him, wide in their confusion, and suddenly Jared can’t remember why he would be barging into a perfectly good party like that. His eyes flicker from face to face until he re-finds Morgan, sprawled on one of the chairs, cradling a beer, the house at his back.

“Can we help you?”

Oh. Yeah. Right. “My mom sent me.”

“His _mom_ sent him.” General laughter.

Jared, while feeling his face going numb, recognizes one of them as the dude who had been over for beer and TV. Small eyes, cap.

“Oh, shut up. Anyway—yeah, so?” Jared blinks at Morgan so he supplies, “What does she _want_?”

“She, uh. Y-you’re a bit loud. S-she can’t s-sleep.”

“She can’t _sleep_?”

“She’s got to, uh, get up early. J-just, uh. Turn it down a little. Sorry.” Jared shrugs, crams his hands into his pockets. “Sorry.”

Small-eyes rumbles, “Great,” and Morgan raises his hands in defeat.

“It’s just—it’s a s-school n-night, ’s all. Sorry.”

“Hey, I get it. It’s cool.” Morgan disappears inside. The music goes quite a bit less noisy. He returns, eyes on Jared. “Better?”

“Yeah. I, I guess. Sorry. Thanks.”

“It’s not your fault your mom’s a bitch,” says small-eyes and Morgan snorts, raising his beer to his mouth. The third guy scoffs; polo-shirt and khakis and a decent haircut.

Haircut guy suggests, “Hey, you want a burger or something? There’s a bunch left.”

Morgan nods, gestures towards the grill. “Yeah, help yourself.”

Jared spins, looks at the grill, then back at the men. “…Really?”

“Sure. Take it as a peace offering o’ something. Hell, bring her one if that’ll calm her tits.”

“W-we don’t, uh—we don’t eat any red meat. At home. So.”

Morgan’s face goes from slightly irritated to full-blown heartbroken. “Kid,” he says, “sit your ass down and have a fucking burger.”

Jared staggers over to them to receive a paper plate and helps himself to one of the many leftovers on the already-off grill. Morgan pats the back of his chair and tells him, “Here, I need to piss anyway.” So he leaves, and Jared’s sitting down between the other two. Grabs a bun, rips it open, slaps the patty on there, and starts eating. Hears, halfway through the third mouthful, “And you are…?”

Jared coughs, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Says, “Jared,” and wipes his palm on his jeans before shaking small-eyes’ hand.

“Norman.”

“Alan. Hi.” Jared nods, shakes his hand, too.

“So, you live nearby, or? Wait. Are you the kid creeping at Jeff’s bike?”

Jared more than half-chokes. “What?”

Small-eyes repeats, “His _bike_ ,” and thumbs behind him. “You better stop that shit. He’s a fucking dog with a bone with that thing.”

Jared’s head jerks accordingly, blindly. He returns to shoving food down his throat in an attempt to avoid both conversating and giving himself any space to start freaking out. It works.

He’s just finishing the last bite by the time Morgan returns, and Jared scoots back, ready to give the seat back, but Morgan pats him on the shoulder like a there-there. Jared watches that arm reaching over his shoulder, right next to his ear, grabbing the beer from the table.

“Wow, someone’s hungry, huh.”

“It was good. Thanks.” (A lie. But Jared wants out of here.)

Small-eyes snorts like Jared made a joke and Jeff puts his hand back on Jared’s shoulder. Jared can barely keep from ducking away under the touch.

“There’s more, be my guest.”

“I, I should be getting back. Sorry.”

Morgan holds out the beer. Practically dangles it in front of Jared’s face, and Jared can’t deny that his eyes hang on to it for a moment. A silent question.

Jared shoulders Morgan’s hand off. “I really should be going.”

He sees Morgan shrugging and smiling in his peripheral, hears, “Sure thing,” and remembers only at his doorstep that he didn’t tell anyone goodbye.

Mom, in front of the TV with Dad, tells him, “Thank you, honey,” but Jared barely hears it in his hurry upstairs. He jams the door handle to his room down just to be reminded that he had locked it, roars, “Shit!” fumbles for the key. The anger makes his ears go numb. He feels the tears shooting in, his sinuses burning, throat going tight and Mom hollers, “What?” and he barks, “Nothing!” and finally gets the door open.

He rushes inside, locks the door from the other side and slides down until he’s cowering, knees hugged to his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

She frowns, gets a hold of his wrist and ignores that he tries to pull away. He tells her, “No,” but she peels the band-aid off anyway.

She gasps and he uses her shock to retrieve his hand, re-applies the now less sticky band-aid.

“What the fuck.”

“Shut up.”

“Did something happen?”

“No. Shut _up_.”

Her pitiful expression bores into him. He snatches the cigarette from her, takes a deep drag. He stares ahead, away.

“Jared.”

Jared keeps scratching the tip of his pencil in useless circles and doesn’t look up.

Again, “Jared,” and, “would you enlighten us?”

Jared shrugs, eyes downcast.

“Homework,” Mr. Howell supplies. “The Catcher In The Rye. Holden’s main struggle?”

Someone giggles, and Jared scratches behind his ear. Shrugs again. “Didn’t do it. Sorry.”

Someone groans as if they’re personally offended by Jared’s failure, and someone else joins in on the giggling. Jared tugs some hairs behind his ear.

Mr. Howell lets him be, but not without sighing first. Keeps the class rolling but stops Jared from slipping out first once the bell rings. Jared has to pretend to listen to things like, “Really?” and that Howell thought they’d, “agreed on trying harder this year.”

He has no excuse. He tells him that he’s sorry. Whatever Howell needs to hear to let him go.

_Slutgarden_ overpowers the meaningless chatter in the bus. At least in Jared’s world, Amanda doesn’t discuss stupid shit with her girlfriends, and she doesn’t ignore _him_ , he despises _her_ , and Rick’s flexing and hollering and his buddies cheering him on is just a little more hilarious, and empty.

He gets off two stops early, as he sometimes does. Walking isn’t running and it sure as shit doesn’t count as a ‘workout’ but he figures it’s better than nothing. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

He mouths along, “ _I’m unsafe, I’m unsafe_ ,” eyes down, hands in pockets, backpack weighing a ton and honestly this _is_ somewhat of a workout, dragging this shit around in ninety-five-degree weather.

His head perks up when he hears her. But he’s too slow, or she’s too fast, and Morgan passes him like he doesn’t even exist.

Jared tugs his earphones off, idling in the driveway. Groceries spill out of the bags fastened on either side of her and Marilyn’s hissing about porno movies from around his collarbones. Morgan steps back out to keep bringing his shit inside and spots him. It’s not hard to do with Jared standing right there.

Marilyn lets him know that, “ _This is a new religion to me,_ ” and Jared doesn’t look away when Morgan’s stopping in his tracks to stare back at him.

They keep it up past the point where Jared usually turns and runs. He’s sweating as it is, and he’s afraid to blink, as if that somehow was a weakness. But Morgan isn’t blinking either, so.

It’s Morgan who breaks first. “You gonna help me or what?” and he’s back in motion, glaring out of the side of his eye but not waiting up nor annulling his request.

Jared throws a small glance to the kitchen window before he strolls over to Morgan’s side of the road.

Canned shit, and steaks. Seasoned breadcrumbs. Whiskey.

“I’m in here,” reminds Morgan, and Jared grabs an armful of whatever is on top, and carries it inside.

The house still smells the same. Eve and him had hung out in here sometimes, snatched cookies during the many Open House events. He hears Morgan rummaging in the kitchen, so he follows the noise through the living room. The ceiling fan is on full speed, but it’s suffocating still.

Morgan grunts, squatting in front of the pantries. Waves his entire arm at Jared without even looking, tells him, “Gimme that,” and Jared hurries over to do that. After handing over the food, he takes a moment to take in the room, curious for what might have changed. The answer is: nothing much. If anything, the place is even emptier than he remembers. Keaton, the scary-happy realtor they had dined at their place from time to time out of sheer pity, had always paid attention to ‘details’, aka adding as many fresh flower bouquets and ‘friendly’ curtains and throws and pillows and shit.

Jared actually likes it better now. Easier to clean, definitely. Very practical.

“Hey.” Morgan snaps his fingers to get Jared’s attention, and Jared snaps out of his stupor. “Get the rest, would you?”

Jared does. Returns to Morgan popping open a beer, sweat stains huge and obvious on his white tee, and he points at the cabinets the groceries should be going in. Jared stows them away. He’s slightly out of breath once he’s done and wipes across his forehead with the back of his hand, stepping back to take in the old-fashioned kitchen once more.

Hears, “You want one?” and turns to look at Morgan soon enough to see him raising his eyebrows together with a beer.

Jared looks at the beer. At Morgan. At the beer. At Morgan. “…Yeah?”

Morgan bends to the fridge, retrieves a new bottle. Uncaps it, tells him, “There you go,” and Jared receives it.

Seriously?

Jared raises the bottle to his mouth, and on the first swallow, Morgan announces, “You’re arrested,” and he splutters, coughs, chokes on it.

Hears Morgan laughing his ass off and glares over at him basically slapping his thigh.

“Oh man, you should’a seen your _face_ , oh my god, that was priceless.” He wipes a tear out of his eye and Jared slams the bottle down on the counter. “No, no, please, c’mon, I was only making a joke. Hah, oh man. No, seriously, don’t worry, I’m not a cop. Promise. C’mon, before it gets warm.”

Jared picks the bottle back up, not without keeping an eye on Morgan. But there are no more interruptions, and he takes gulp after gulp, unsure how much you’re supposed to drink at once, but he’s thirsty and the beer is bitter and cold, and. Fuck. This is really good.

“Savor it,” reminds Morgan. “You’re not getting another.”

Jared, of course, doesn’t. And how could he? It goes straight to his head, and he likes that. His brain freezes some, but that’s okay. He belches with the back of his hand in front of his mouth, and puts the eventually empty bottle down on the counter.

Morgan smirks. “You’re welcome.”

Jared nods. He’s definitely feeling it.

“You don’t talk much, do you.”

He shakes his head, feels his headphones dangling when he does and starts to fumble for his Discman to finally stop the music.

“Fine by me. Too much useless chit-chattering out there anyway, am I right?”

Jared belches again and nods. “Yeah.”

“What you’ve got there?”

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“Says who.”

Jared shakes his head again. “It’s not for everyone, s’all.”

“I prefer to think for myself,” and the Discman is ripped from Jared’s too-slow fingers, “thank you very much.”

“Hey!”

Jared hesitates to grab his belongings back from this bear of a guy. Especially when he looks as determined as he does, right now, and is already pressing buttons with his meaty fingers anyway. Something like shame flashes up the tips of Jared’s ears, makes him aware of the sweat on his skin and the emptiness of his stomach. He can hear the album starting up and Morgan looks focused. Like, he’s actually _listening_.

Jared stands still, helpless. Feels weirdly naked, having his music practically dissected, judged, and it feels like a personal thing, like _he_ wrote these songs. (Basically could have, as intertwined as he feels with them at this point.)

It’s a kick right to the guts when Morgan tugs off the headphones after mere moments.

“Why the fuck is he whispering? Your headphones are _shit_.”

And then Morgan opens the Discman, and takes out the CD, and walks back into the living room with it.

Jared stumbles after him—watches him starting up the stereo, inserting the CD.

Jared might be about to throw up his lunch.

The intro starts up fucking _loud_ , crystal-clear. Hisses from the surround system, takes over the room, and Morgan squints at the ceiling and turns the volume even higher.

Okay. Either throwing up or busting a fucking nut.

“That’s better,” decides Morgan, and throws a thoughtful glance to Jared upon the swears settling in, and god Jared hopes he isn’t getting hard right now because he can’t feel a damn thing but the goosebumps.

“Ah, okay,” laughs Morgan once the bridge bursts up the volume; he swirls it down to a modest level and smirks at Jared, who feels a lot like sitting the fuck down. So he does that. Sinks into the only armchair with a huff, and gawps up at the guy.

“I see the appeal.”

Jared blinks. Yeah?

Morgan nods. Skips to _mOBSCENE_. “Yup. Sounds like puberty. Which I don’t mean as an insult, don’t get me wrong.” He eyes the stereo, like there is anything to read. “A lot of ‘fuck you’ going on. I get it. Whatever tickles your fancy, kid.”

Jared hasn’t felt this gutted since Amanda slapped his face in front of the entire cheering team.

The music stops, and Jared feels like crying. Mutters, “Thanks,” upon getting his shit pushed back into his clammy hands, and avoids Morgan’s eyes. Stuffs everything into his backpack and takes an embarrassingly long while to get it open in the first place. Clings to it until he becomes aware he’s doing it.

“You okay there? Little dizzy?” Jared shakes his head but Morgan muses, “The beer was a fucking dumb idea. Didn’t consider how much of a lightweight you are… Hey, you hungry? What do you say, we start up the grill?”

Jared is too full, with everything.

Morgan smiles, pats his cheek not too gently. “Can’t let you go home smelling like a bar now, can we? Your poor mother.”

~

Morgan probably doesn’t mean half the shit he’s saying. Is babbling, and probably just pitying Jared. Like all of them are, until they’re fed up with his bullshit.

Jared swallows, and stares up at the ceiling. Arms behind his head, _No Time To Cry_ flutters through the room, AC on ‘mild’ so his nipples don’t freeze off, window jammed shut, as always.

He tugs a hand free to roam over his stomach, the freezer aisle meatballs buried in there underneath Mom’s holy home-cooked whatever. They lie in there like boulders. Like fist-sized rocks, unbroken. He imagines he can feel them, pressing his palm down like he does. Makes a face at the uncomfortable pressure, scratches up under his arm instead.

Morgan’s cooking is, to put it lightly, a disgrace to the human digestive system.

And here Jared thought he wasn’t picky, at least about food.

He still ate it. All of it. And said it’s good, thanks. Morgan must have known it was disgusting, considering the concern in his face when Jared _kept on eating_. Probably wondered if Jared might actually be as starving as he looks. Jared would prefer that over being found out lying.

And it hadn’t been a lie. Not really. It _had_ been nice. Different from home, so, yeah, nice.

Jared sniffs. Fishes above his head for another smoke.

~

Fucking around with the burns turned into foreplay, some time ago. If he were just slightly less of a mess, he’d maybe be worried, or disgusted. Or ashamed of it. But he’s always been like that, somehow. He remembers that much. Pain is just another peak. It’s all about hormones.

Adrenaline. Pick, pick, pick.

Jared is sweating, throat bared to the wooden ceiling of the fort. Shorts around his knees, cock aching heavenwards, his nail rakes in a mean spiral. It burns.

Actually, skin is an organ. The biggest one we have.

Jared licks his lips and tastes salt.

The girl in his head has him tied to the bed, spread out like a starfish. She makes him watch her long red nails clawing along the even longer line of his body, catching on his nipples and he mimics that in real life. He’s still sore there from this morning. It makes it even better.

Jared knows what lipstick tastes like. Buttery, and chemical.

She bites his lip as she squats down, lines him up.

“God, please.”

His hand switches from thigh to cock.

It never takes long.

~

Jared lifts his face out of his plate at the sound of a car pulling up outside. Nobody but him even notices it, but Megan squints at him eventually, wary. “Hey, what is it?”

“Nothing,” he says, and turns back to the cradle of the family dinner. “Hey, Mom? Can I go and—”

“Sure, sure.”

Megan gawps. “He didn’t even finish talking, and he can go _out_ after dinner?”

“What, he’s just seeing Eve. Right, honey?”

Jared nods, slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Baby, eat up. We can talk again once _you’re_ seventeen.”

Megan stabs her chicken with emphasis.

Mom sighs.

(Mom still hopes Eve and him are actually, secretly, fucking. He knows that. Hell, sometimes _he_ still hopes that.)

Jared helps with the dishes; the only ‘thank you’ he has available. He slips his flip-flops on and heads down the street until he takes a sharp turn into the woods in between two street lights. Soon into the crawling, he realizes that the fucking flip-flops were the fucking worst idea.

Humans get used to everything, and Jared considers himself with an extra heap of that talent, down here in the dirt, scratched and, judging by the sting, bleeding, and his neck craned to be able to see through the leaves of the bushes. The living room is pitch black. But there are lights on upstairs.

Jared’s eyes shift from window to window. To the rainwater downpipe. The chipping wooden facade.

After waiting through several minutes (he’s not counting) of listening, he lifts himself to a plank, a stand next. Squats behind the bushes to collect his nerves before he sprints across the short distance, and presses up against the house, flat, invisible. His nostrils flare with his breath. He blinks up, clamps his mouth thin and thinner.

Muffled sounds. No music. Maybe a window is ajar upstairs.

While he considers the downpipe again, a crack snaps through the silence, followed (overlaid?) with an unmistakable male sound of distress.

Jared stares wide-eyed, out into the night.

“There we go.” (That’s Morgan.)

Another crack.

Jared can’t move.

The noise repeats, several times. Sizzles, and then hits, and Jared’s zeroed in on his hearing only. He doesn’t even breathe.

Another hissing noise adds to the scene and eventually replaces itself with whining.

Morgan, again. “This what you needed?”

Jared hears a pathetic-soft, “Yeah,” and his cock throbs hard, and his heart kicks against his ribs, and.

Holy shit.

He stays pressed to the wall until they really start fucking. Which is quite a while. Jared’s lizard brain decides that cutting through the garden is a-okay as long as he gets away from here asap. He rushes behind his parents’ cars to bend over and empty his stomach right then and there, heaves as quietly as he can. Flings the last sick from his fingers after wiping his face and feels fucking pale, fucking cardiovascularly impaired.

He dry-heaves again only to come up with nothing left.

“Oh, back already?”

“She didn’t feel well,” he lies, halfway up the stairs already.

“Oh, what’s the matter?”

He throws in, “Menstruation,” just to shut her up, and locks himself in the upstairs bathroom.

He sticks his finger down his throat to make himself sick again, but still, nothing. Drinks some water from the tap and tries again, only brings up that very same water. He still feels wrong inside.

Someone bangs on the door. “What the fuck are you doing in there!?”

“Fuck off, Megan!”

“Mooom, Jared’s puking his guts out!”

“Fuck you! Fuck off! Leave me the fuck alone!” Jared flushes the toilet, rushes to the sink to dunk his head into the water he let collect there. Scrubs harder than he’d need to, but then again maybe not.

“Jared, baby,” Mom only ever knocks with one knuckle but it’s always somehow louder than doing it with a fist, “are you okay in there?”

He splutters, “I’m fine,” though he still feels sick. He swallows and screws his eyes shut, holds onto the sink. “I’m fine, just—leave me alone! I’ll be out in a, in a, a s-s-second!”

He punches himself in the stomach and Mom tells him, “Okay? But if you need anything—”

He hugs his middle, bent-over. He talks through his teeth. “I’m fine. Just leave. _Please_.”

The corridor is empty when he peeks out. Megan’s door is ajar though, and downstairs the TV is turned down very, very low.

Jared considers the risks. Slows every movement to a minimum, and manages to slip into his room without getting any attention.

He strips, turns on the nightlight and the stereo (Mechanical Animals), crawls into bed, under the covers. His eyes won’t close right. He curls up tighter and scratches at the scab on his shoulder until he feels a little less like going insane. Until he feels grounded, and feels his body again—the pounding in his head and between his legs and right in his middle where his stomach is twisting like some sorry, foul worm.

He’s breathing through his nose.

~

“Take a picture,” Morgan tells him. “It’ll last you longer.”

“…Can I?”

Morgan’s frown deepens. “Would you stop being such a fucking freak for a single second?”

Jared’s hugging his knees and watches Morgan wringing the sponge out into the bucket. Smells the soap from here, the many little bottles surrounding the bike like a grade A cosmetic program. Like when Eve and her girlfriend start the night off with a spa package; polishes, and soaps, and potions.

Morgan stops stink-eyeing him when it becomes clear that Jared knows how to keep his distance. He gives her the full program. Jared hadn’t thought she’d even need it until she looks stunning even only halfway through.

Jared’s shoulders tense on the sound of the front door opening behind him.

“You can’t do that here.”

Morgan turns to look over at Mom. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t _do_ that here,” she repeats, like Morgan is dumb or deaf or both. “The soap! It gets into the gutter. It poisons the water!”

Morgan blinks, and scoffs, and his mouth splits into a prissy smile. “Lady…”

“Don’t _lady_ me, you, you—punk!”

“Mom…”

“No, he’s not supposed to _do_ that, Jared! There’s a reason people wash their cars in car washes!”

“Does this look like a fucking _car_ to you, lady?”

“Listen, I’ve had it up to _here_ with you—”

“Mom!”

“I’m calling the COPS!” she spits, and Jared scrambles backwards and to his feet when Morgan hurls the sponge to the ground, and picks up the bucket of soapy water—and starts stomping towards them.

He’s not sure if he’s protecting her or holding her _back_. “YOU! Don’t you DARE!”

Morgan stalks straight to the parked cars, and Mom yells, again, “NO! Don’t you DARE!”

The entire bucket’s worth hits the rear window and trunk of their Sedan and she screams like Morgan’s bashed it in instead.

He shows her the finger, fuming with fury, and returns to his property; tosses the empty dripping bucket into what is left of the front lawn and slams the door after him.

“That’s IT! That’s fucking IT! You MANIAC! ASSHOLE!”

Jared feels like pinching himself awake.

“Of course she didn’t call the cops.”

Eve’s mouth is a perfect red-rimmed ‘o’ before it breaks open for a shrill burst of laughter. He grins, too, while she squeals, “Oh my god!” over and over. “I can’t _believe_! Oh my god that’s so fucking _metal_!”

“She made me slip a letter into his mailbox.”

“Oh—my—god!”

“I might not actually have slipped it in.”

“Ooooh my _god_!” She’s basically in his lap at this point with honest to god tears in her eyes. “Oh my god, Jared, _Ja_ red!”

He unfolds the crumbled page from his hoodie pocket, and puts on his Mom-face. “‘Dear Mr. Morgan…’”

Two of Eve’s sisters knock on the door behind which she’s screaming with laughter, independently of one another.

~

“And that?”

“That’s the throttle cable.” Morgan frowns over at him, oil-soiled polishing rag in hand. “Kid. You sure it’s okay for you to be here?”

“I can do whatever I want.” Jared shrugs, scratches his belly over his thick hoodie. Raises his beer to his mouth with the other hand.

Morgan snorts and turns back to his bike. Apparently appeased. “As long as she’s busting _your_ balls instead of mine…”

Jared shifts his position every now and then. Drags the one leg underneath him, then the other. Scratches along the soaked collar of his hoodie and takes his time with the beer this time around. _Does_ want to savor it, and maybe overdoes it, since it’s warm and flat by now. But, hey. It’s still a fucking beer. He’s not arguing with that.

Morgan sighs, eventually, and Jared retracts his peeked-out neck back to average human length.

“Get your ass over here. You’re driving me the fuck insane, fidgeting like a bitch.”

Jared closes in, then. Hesitantly, unsure if he should bring his chair, or…

“Bring your fucking chair, Jesus fucking Christ. What are you, a toddler?”

“Sorry…”

“Move it before I change my fucking mind! There you go. Jesus.”

The bike holds all of Jared’s focus, this up close and the smell of the polish and the oil, and.

He slaps at Morgan’s hand tugging on his hoodie before he can think better of it.

“Is it not ninety-fucking-six degrees on your planet? What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“I’m fine. What’s that part?”

“You smell like that raccoon I had to dig out of the air vents.”

Jared glares now, but keeps staring ahead, insistent on the machine. “A-an-nd th-that one? What’s that?”

“I can see you pouring sweat, y’know.”

“Oh my god! Can we! _Please_! Keep t-t-talking about the bike!”

He can feel Morgan staring at him. Focuses on chrome and innards instead and feels another trickle of sweat running down from hairline along spine, until the waistband of his shorts soak it up.

Morgan eventually (finally) surrenders. Grunts, “You need a shower,” and turns back to his bike.

“Well you c-c-certainly don’t smell like some wildflower bouquet either.”

Jared freezes, and feels Morgan slowly turning to him, in silence.

He…might have said that out loud.

Huh.

“This,” says Morgan, extra-slow, as he points at a machinery part in front of their faces, “is the radiator.”

They leave her out to dry once Morgan gave her a once-over. Jared half-blinks at the crappy tube TV and feels twice as drunk here where it’s cooler and where the purr of the ceiling fan lulls him.

“PB and J?”

Jared nods.

“Talk!” barks Morgan, and Jared rushes, “Yeah, yes,” and gets a, “Then don’t sit around, come and make your goddamn sandwich! I know the tits confuse you, but I’m in fact not your mom. I’m just fat.”

Jared stumbles over to him, into the kitchen, gathers the used knife and starts dumping peanut butter on two slices of bread at once. Morgan is already eating, side-eyeing him distrustfully.

“Clean that up when you’re done,” and Jared is left alone.

He cuts clean triangles, removes the crust. He stacks them onto a plate he pulls out of one of the cabinets (finds it on the third try), clears the counter, and returns to the living room.

Morgan is sprawled on the couch, focused on the TV. Some kind of ballgame is on and Jared’s almost sitting again when he’s whistled at, finds Morgan beckoning, eyes unbroken on the game. “Hey, gimme one of those.”

Jared shuffles over. Morgan takes four.

Jared pulls his legs up in the armchair, plate on his knees, and eats.

The sandwiches vanish. One of the teams wins. The sun is still strong in the sky.

Jared cranes his neck to look back at Morgan, and is being ignored.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Is your name really ‘Jeff’?”

“A-yup. Jeffrey Dean fucking Morgan.” Jeff Morgan belches. “Why.”

Jared says, “Just askin’,” and curls back into the armchair.

~

They’re in the living room. Jared can see _everything_.

Morgan is one hairy motherfucker.

Jared’s hips grind into the dirt that once nourished pretty mediocre petunias. He’s not aware of either of those things.

Small-eyes looks like it hurts, and cranes his neck, and lets Morgan chew on his mouth. At least that’s what it looks like from here. Kissing looks different. Right?

Their voices are shallow through the glass doors. But Jared has sharp ears, and the road is as quiet as ever.

~

“Did you grow again?”

Jared flings his shirt into the grass. “Huh?”

Eve gestures between his legs.

He looks down at his hard-on.

“What’s that? Seven, eight inches?” Her tits float in the water. Her hair looks like seaweed.

(Eight point four. He measured this morning. Just fyi.)

He slips into the river and dips under. Comes back up and tosses his head like a dog because it makes her squeal so cute. “Don’t, you ass! This is serious!”

He swims over to her. She’s already at the rock, climbing it as gracefully as you can all drenched and trying not to slip. He floats, watches her unpacking the bundle she brought, the gems and the chalice and the herbs. And the goosebumps on her tits, of course.

It’s a full moon. Jared’s surprised they don’t have bystanders yet. Eve’s very meticulous about her astrology.

He listens to her mumbling about stars and alignments and it doesn’t really matter that he’s here with her; she says he calms her and that his ‘special’ (yeah, thanks) aura attracts energies pretty well. But Eve’s parents spoke to him and he knows he’s the only reason she’s allowed out of the house past midnight.

They don’t know about the skinny dipping. But they’re okay with the witchcraft, so. It’s probably fine.

They also probably think Jared’s dicking more than a dead piece of stone during these nights. His ego is far too fragile to correct them.

So Jared holds onto cold, slippery stone, humps his dick against cold, slippery stone, and he doesn’t pretend not to stare at his friend’s pussy and she doesn’t pretend to care.

~

He knows he’s seen the guy before but can’t remember his name.

Jeff beckons Jared over as soon as he spots him.

The pickup truck in Morgan’s driveway looks…very beaten up.

“What do you think, Jay?”

Jared looks at Morgan, at the truck. Peers into the rolled-down window, circles it to the front. “Can it drive?”

“We drove it here from work,” announces decent-haircut guy. He’s got his arms crossed in front of his chest, like Jeff, but looks less concerned about the situation. Which, if this is about the truck, might be a touch _too_ optimistic.

Morgan never told him what he does for a living. But Jared can put two and two together: the fascination for everything with an engine, the perpetual black-stained nails. The magazines and tools slowly spilling across the entire property.

Jared tries to get behind what they want to hear, but haircut guy (something with A; Adam, Aaron?) just smiles while Morgan is consumed by staring at the truck and scratching his chin.

Jared shrugs, says, “It’s a truck.”

“Come on! Fifty bucks.”

“Well _fuck_ you and your fifty bucks, Ackles, I could buy a decent car with what I’ll have to put in.”

Haircut guy laughs, and Jeff grumbles. Jared looks back and forth between them, at the truck again, at Morgan. “You…want to _buy_ this?”

“Considering it.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Haircut guy slaps the hood of the truck. “Junior held this one very dear. Never gave up on him, not once.”

“Yeah, certainly held it dear up against a tree or two.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a cheap thing a rookie can learn the ropes in—this is your deal.”

Something in Jared bucks.

He blinks at the truck. At Morgan, who’s still not looking at him.

This can’t be. Right? It can’t be. Don’t be ridiculous.

Jared circles the truck again. Blue paint, rust here and there. Dents, yeah. But a good size.

Haircut guy leans into him and murmurs, “Tell him you think it’s a good deal.”

“I can _hear_ you.”

Jared’s stomach feels sick. He scratches at one of the holes in his jeans on the top of his thigh. Says, weakly, “I didn’t kn-know you were looking for a car.”

Morgan tells him, “It’s not for me.”

Jared scratches harder. Digs his nail into the edge of the closest burn, and hopes they can’t see his eyes under the mop of his hair.

“I’m asking you again. What do you think.” And then he adds, “Would you drive this?”

Okay.

He’s gonna puke.

Murmured, unbelieving, “Y-you know I. That I c-c-can-n’t. Drive.”

“But you could learn! She wouldn’t mind another dent—”

“Leave him alone. Jared,” and Jared can’t look up from the car, or at Morgan, or anyone. “C’mon, talk to me. Yes or no?”

“I, I.” He shakes his head. “I d-don’t, I-I don’t h-h-have any m-m-m-money.”

“You help with the repairs, we’re good.”

“I, I don’t.” He hugs his middle with one arm, extends the other to touch the passenger door handle. Looks at his hand, the blood under his nail, throat feeling too tight. “Y-you can’t.”

“You know what? Watch me.”

“No!” Jared stumbles over as Jeff produces his wallet from the back of his jeans. “N-no, y-you can’t, this is too much, please.” He’s fucking aware he’s about to cry, that he sounds like he’s already at it. Gets a grip on Jeff’s arm, but Jeff peels through the bills and fingers one out, and tells him, quietly, “Lemme do this _one_ _good thing_ , okay?” and, wrapping one huge hand around the back of Jared’s neck, tugs him into half a bear hug. “It’s gonna be fine. Maybe she’ll rot away under your ass in two weeks anyway, who knows.”

Jared is left behind on the left side of the car while fifty dollars go from one hand into the other, and as he holds onto the truck—fuck. It’s his now.

His knees are unsteady and he wipes his forearm across his eyes before Jeff is back at his side, pulls him in again, ruffles his hair, atta boy. “How’s that feel, huh? Fucking great, innit? Your first car!”

Jared keeps knuckling his eyes, and he laughs.


	3. Chapter 3

“He can’t keep it.”

“Mom—”

“No, Jared, absolutely not.” Mom hasn’t stopped shaking her head ever since she saw the two of them coming towards the house. Her glare is strong. She rounds the truck again. “This is, this cannot be—safe!”

“Some fresh oil and a couple’a spark plugs, she’s good to go. I checked her at our garage, drove her around a bunch,” Morgan tells her, like even more of his involvement in the matter would be doing anything in terms of winning her over.

Mom glares daggers through the blue of the eight PM dusk.

Morgan has both hands deep in the pockets of his sweatpants and Jared fears that that lip might be about to curl into a snarl.

“I can give you our card, if you’re interested.”

“No, thank you.”

Jared shifts from foot to foot from a safe distance on the clean, soft grass on their side of the road.

Morgan said the truck could be parked in front of his house since the Padalecki’s driveway is already occupied. And if space’s the problem, ma’am, it’s just me, no rascals who’d have to throw their bikes into the dirt now.

All three of them know that this is not about the truck, or the logistics.

“I won’t let him be stupid, ma’am. Boy scout honor.”

“Is that so.”

“That’s so, ma’am.”

“So _you’re_ gonna teach _my son_ how to drive? In this, this— _enormous_ —”

“Mom, it’s not _that_ big…”

“Yeah, ma’am, we see trucks twice that size all day every day—”

“That’s not the _point_!” She’s getting desperate. Jared can tell by the way she’s starting to pinch the collar of her shirt. How she can barely keep from biting her nails. “He—he can’t pay for it. He doesn’t have a job, what about the _gas_ , Jared, did you _think_ about that yet?”

“I’ll start mowing lawns.”

“Oh, _will_ you?”

“Yeah!” He grabs his elbows tighter. “And I’ll a-a-ask at the s-supermarket, i-if—”

“Shouldn’t you rather be saving for college instead?”

Jared scoffs. “Are you hi-hi-high or somethin’?”

“Jared!”

“What do you w-want, this is m-my third s-sophom-more year; you think any f-fuckin’ school out there _w-wants_ me?”

“The point is—” Morgan roars between them; puts his nice guy mask and tone on once Mom’s attention is on him. “—ma’am. Miss P. Can I call you Miss P?”

“It’s Sharon.”

“Sharon,” he smiles. “Listen: Jared’s a good kid. He’s been helping with my bike—”

“Jared TRISTAN—”

“—watching, learning, and I feel like he’s not half-bad with it, y’know? I feel like he can grab this thing by the balls. By all means, he’s old enough to take some responsibility.”

Mom snaps, “How would you know, you don’t even KNOW him!” and Jared feels his face both flushing and draining at once.

Silence settles over the lifeless street.

Jared forces his eyes to the pavement while his knuckles go white with strain.

“Look,” Morgan tries, again, softer now, calmer. “This is hard for you. I get it.”

Mom informs, “You don’t,” and her voice trembles.

“I’ve been managing vehicles my whole life. I work with shitty broken-down cars all day. I see assholes who can’t even tell left from right and they’re out on the streets, being reckless, and stupid, because they don’t know what they’re doing, and they don’t care. But Jared,” Morgan says, “he’s not like that. He’s got his heart in it. He’s not gonna fuck this up, I’ll promise you _that_.”

Maybe Mom’s looking over at him.

“Jesus, woman—I’m the safest bet you’ll get. You think he’d listen to any of those old farts teaching driver’s ed telling him to respect a fucking traffic sign?”

Jared dares to look up, and, yeah, she’s looking straight at him. And, god, he wished he was half as good as Morgan paints him to be. That she could look at him and not see a complete failure, not be worried if he’ll ever make it to age twenty-one.

He tells her, “Please,” careful because he’s misused her love too often already, “I’m not gonna fuck this up. I swear.”

She pouts and puts the knuckle of her forefinger between her teeth. Turns to look back at the truck, just a few feet shy of the spot the skid marks used to be, and at Morgan again. The guy she hates so much because he’s loud, and unconventional, and doesn’t let her rot in the vacuum she’s so laboriously built around what’s left of her family.

You’re the one putting her through this.

“Morgan.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If our mechanic finds one, _a single thing_ , after you’ve deemed it safe, I swear to God.”

“I will immediately set myself on fire if that happens.”

“I do _not_ want him having the keys.”

“Sharon, he’s not even gonna _look_ at her when I’m not around.”

Mom nods sporadically through her, “Good,” and a week later, an unknown DMV employee adds Jared’s name to Jared’s nineteen-eighty-seven Nissan King Cab Pickup’s papers.

~

If Eve and him would be up and at it like God intended it and had a beautiful little baby, Jared thinks that’s how it would have felt.

He spends entire afternoons ogling the truck. His truck. It’s his. He owns it. It’s old and run-down and smelly but it’s _his_.

It’s beautiful.

It also scares the hell out of him.

Morgan took him aside and made it clear that he _does_ trust Jared with her but that they’ll have to respect his mom’s limits, like it or not. Jared agrees, of course. That Morgan would trust him with her though, that’s…a wild concept. Hell, he doesn’t trust _himself_.

He knows Mom is hawk-eyed on them working on the truck. Despite his short commands, Morgan is patient. He explains and explains and Jared’s head is usually spinning after mere minutes of work, leaves him even more on edge, fidgeting with whatever Morgan’s trusted him to hold for him. His attention span shuts down and leaves him helpless. Morgan is pissed with not getting the correct answers out of him after explaining it in detail moments ago and gets even more pissed when Jared can’t reply to his (appropriate) demands about how on Earth _can one dumb fuck be this fucking dumb_.

He just looks at his feet, quiet. Gave up shrugging eventually.

Morgan says he needs some goddamn coffee and leaves Jared with the toolbox and the truck.

He lifts his eyes to her. The chipping paint Morgan said they’ll sand down soonish, once they got her basic innards sorted out and running. He’s got an eight socket wrench wringed in both of his damp palms and throws a nervous look across the street, to Mom glaring at him to better not be stupid. Back to the truck. The many cables and tubes that are nothing but a maze, still.

Morgan returns with a huge cup of joe and a less aggressive spring in his step. Jared hasn’t moved an inch.

Morgan reclaims his seat on the stool he pulled out on the sidewalk, elbows on his knees, and considers the open hood of the car. The nutjob of a kid he spent way too much money and time on already.

Grumbles, “Look,” and blinks tired at Jared. “Am I being an asshole or something? Am I doing something wrong here?”

Jared mutters, “No.”

“Then what the hell is going on? I thought this is what you wanted. Or did you seriously want a _bike_? Y’know, a bike’s way more fickle than a car. Your little girlfriend’s folks wouldn’t let her ride on the back of a _bike_.”

Jared shakes his head. Supplies, “I really l-l-like the truck. I really do.”

“Then why aren’t you putting your back into this?”

Jared drops his eyes to her tires.

He hears Morgan sighing. That defeated sound that rocks color into Jared’s face, twists his guts the way he probably deserves.

“Okay.” More sighing. Sipping. Considering. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Jared’s eyes twitch in confusion. He looks back at Jeff.

“How do I pull this goddamn stick outta your ass, huh,” and Morgan’s frowning at him but he means it. “Is there something basic you didn’t get? What in the hell got you this _paralyzed_?”

Back to the truck. What he now knows is the engine. The many pieces working together to make one wholesome system, and he could explain that. He _could_ , he thinks; he’s repeating it in his head, over and over, in bed, watching her until he falls asleep at night.

He licks his lip. “I d-d-don’t. Wuh-w-wanna. Dissap-p-point, you.”

“What? Not wanna disappoint me?”

Jared nods quickly.

“Why would you disappoint me?”

“I-it’s, uh. It’s w-w-what I do. Usually?” His eyes flicker from truck to Morgan. “I’m, uh. I’m not v-very s-s-smart, so.”

“Oh Jesus.” Morgan groans, wipes his hand over his face. He points at Jared, looks straight at him. “If you say that one more fucking time, I’ll beat your ass. Big time. Alright? Don’t lemme hear that bullshit ever again.”

Jared is confused. He must look like it, too.

Morgan hefts himself to a stand, coffee still in his hand. He trots over to Jared and the tools, wipes his hand on the leg of his coveralls. He specifically brought them home from work. Spends his afternoons working on the truck, for Jared, _for free_ , and now has the balls to demand of Jared to tell him how to make him grasp the value of all this. As if Jared was capable of that.

Jared nearly jumps out of his skin when Morgan slaps his free hand down on the back of his neck and keeps it there. He makes the mistake of flinching his eyes to the guy and finds him staring him down, intensely.

“C’mon, we both know there’s more in you than that.” Morgan’s voice is lower now; a weird contrast to the grip he has on Jared’s scruff of the neck. He shakes him just a bit, encouraging. “Just because you haven’t found out yet how to get it out doesn’t mean it’s not _there_.”

Jared goes from gawping like a vegetable to at least clapping his mouth shut. He swallows, full of shame, and looks back at the truck. He nods, hesitantly. “Okay.”

“Yeah, _okay_. Look, I’m doing this for _you_. When I was your age, I didn’t even dare dream to have someone do this for me. And now I can be that guy for some poor little shit. That’s all the gratification my ass needs.” Morgan goes from holding his neck to patting him between the shoulder blades two powerful times. “Hell, if the only thing coming out of this is you shedding a smile over this shit someday with your diapers full, rotting away in some nursing home, then I’ve done my part.”

~

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that goddamn truck is just a cover-up for your super gay love affair.” Eve squints at him with all the disdain of her small, brittle Goth heart. “Can you be, like, ten percent less in love with a _machine_? You’re so pathetic, P.”

He glares back at her and blows a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

She throws another deep pout before turning her attention back to his toenails. Mutters, “I saw that on TV once. Some dude sticking his dick into his car’s exhaust pipe? Why are men like that?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

~

“What the hell is _that_.”

Jared hauls himself into the passenger seat and narrows his eyes at Jeff’s blank stare at his feet. “Shut up.”

“Fancy.”

“Black is a m-m-manly color.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Jared pulls the seatbelt around himself in two hacky tries.

“Hope she at least put her mouth on your balls for that shit.” Morgan leans back some at Jared’s obvious glare. “What.”

“We’re not. We’re not together, l-like that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“She’s a lesbian.”

Morgan turns in his seat to really face Jared. “You’re _shitting_ me.”

Jared looks up front and crosses his arms over the fading _People Are Poison_ front of his ever-black tee. He hears Morgan whistling, then taking the facts in in stunned silence.

“Well.” Morgan clicks his tongue. “I guess that explains why you’re so fucking bitchy all the time.”

“Can you just s-s-start d-d-driving, man? I thought we were guh-gonna d-d-drive today…”

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbles Morgan, and inserts the key into the ignition. He doesn’t turn it before adding, “Whatever, your majesty.”

The Nissan roars to life with a splutter that still gives Jared a massive heart-wrench. And possibly a boner. But he can control that shit. Or, has to.

Morgan reminds, superficially, “Pay attention to how I do it, alright?” and Jared’s watching him anyway. How he’s turning the signal and puts her into first gear. Jared encourages the sequences to burn into his brain and stay there. He also feels like pissing himself any moment, which makes things kinda jumpy, but, hey.

Morgan pulls them out on the street after checking the mirrors, and suddenly they’re driving. Like, for real. On the road. Jeff shifts into second gear, third eventually, and Jared can’t keep his eyes from pulling away, out the windows, to the trees and traffic signs flying by. They’re headed towards a lot of nothing; the highway’s on the other side of town. This way leads to miles of rural roads and eventually a national park. Jared’s been hiking out here for years.

His parents don’t usually have any business driving up here (nobody has). He can’t remember seeing the scenery from inside a car; from this _high_ up in a car, moreover. The Padaleckis stick to decent station wagons. Last time he rode in a truck, Karl brought him home with a broken leg from playing around the trailer park with Eve.

Jared hears the shifts in gears, up and up. His eyes dip to the cruise control which reads seventy mph, and he looks out the front again, how the greenery becomes more and more patchy. Makes way for naked dirt, and sand, and sun.

“She’s doing good,” notes Morgan, voice raised to be heard over the efforts of the engine, of the heavy metal dashing at this speed.

Jared nods, absolutely mesmerized.

This. This is freedom.

They could reach the desert like this, easy. It takes so long to get out real far by foot (even with a bike, that he doesn’t have). Shit, they could go _any_ where. Next-biggest city is fifty miles up north.

Cruising down the road without any destination feels like flying. Like leaving all the shit behind. Starting something new.

Jared peers at Morgan when he slows her down eventually, pulls them to a halt by the side of the road. Is still looking at him when he’s undoing his seatbelt.

“What’s happening?”

“Switching,” says Morgan. “C’mon, she’ll have you now.”

Jared’s stomach flips. He opens his mouth but Jeff’s already climbing out the car, rounding her hood. Jared struggles to unclip the seatbelt and jumps out of the door Morgan opens for him.

He strides through the sun, climbs into the driver’s seat. He pulls the door closed behind him in a too-hard yank; the bang of it startles him.

Morgan supplies, “Seatbelt,” and Jared hurries to do that.

He puts his hands on the wheel, and all of him shuts down.

After a while, Morgan speaks up again. “Y’know…you gotta drive to, well. Be _driving_.” He sounds careful. Unsure what the hell is going on again. Jared has no idea what he might look like right now. “Foot on the clutch…ignition…ease off the clutch…”

“W-why do I. I mean, I thought, I thought y-you were guh-gonna. That I wasn’t, uh, not, not this early, I mean…”

“You’re nervous. That’s normal. Nothing’s gonna happen. There’s plenty of space around us, you’re not gonna drive us into a ditch or nothing. Just give it a go.” Jared’s head bobs, and Jeff instructs again, “Foot on the clutch…ignition…”

Jared’s tongue scrapes along his teeth. He puts his right foot down, puts his hand on the key, and turns it. She roars horribly loud, and he flinches away from her, and the engine shuts right back down.

“That was the gas pedal, buddy.”

Jared murmurs, “Okay, okay,” and feels the sweat pearling on his forehead, feels it starting to run down the back of his neck. He snuffles and tries it again, left foot this time. Careful but not careful enough, and she makes a sudden jump forward and Jared yells, “SHIT!” and flings his feet off the pedals and she’s motionless once more, sputtering sadly before stalling completely.

He can hear Morgan placating, “Easier on the foot. Tip it down _slow_ ,” and Jared screams back at him, “I KNOW!” from where he’s banging his head onto his crossed forearms on top of the wheel.

“Hey, take it easy.”

“I can’t! I can’t do it. I can’t do it.”

“Deep breath. Go slow, nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

He shakes his head furiously. “I’m not ready. I’m, I can’t. This is too much. I can’t. I can’t do it.”

All he hears is his own ragged breathing for awhile. Until Jeff tells him, “Okay,” soft and not demeaning at all but still Jared doesn’t make it back to the passenger side without scrubbing his forearm across his face, hard.

He can’t look at Morgan. Is turned towards the door when he hears, “Another time then.” He can’t even nod or anything. “Don’t beat yourself up, okay?” The ignition starts. “Hey, you know a good place for milkshakes? I could use one. How ’bout you?”

Jared shakes his head, cheek in his hand. “There’s nothing up ahead,” he croaks. “Nothin’.”

~

Susan Mary Klein dies on a  blindingly sunny Wednesday. She’s leaving behind three daughters, fourteen grandchildren, four great-grandchildren. Old people have that very distinctive smell, like soap. Slow decay—of organs, of cells.

Eve’s clearly waiting for a response. Holds her tears and her snot even though her voice is obviously rough with all of it already. Jared’s staring at the wall and he can’t tell her he’s sorry, or whatever you’re supposed to say in a situation like that.

_“Hey.”_ Reproachful. Wet. _“You still there?”_

“Yeah, yeah.” A beat. “Sorry.”

She says the funeral is this Sunday and that she needs him. He listens to her begging over his silence, please, Jare, I can’t do this alone, only for an hour, please, I know this is a lot to ask, but.

Jared tells her, “I’ll have to think about it,” to prolong the inevitable, adds, “okay?” because he’s concerned about her and he loves her and he doesn’t wanna make her go through it but it will happen anyway, and. He’s not ready.

Eve thanks him before she hangs up.

The familiar numbness returns. Had him around the middle ever since Eve said why she’s calling and is spreading slowly, unstoppable. Has his mouth dry, and his fingers cold, and he feels sick but there’s nothing there. Nothing.

Eve’s not in school this Thursday.

Wheat and corn fly by. Endless yellow, dry and burnt to ripeness. Jared lets the wind whip him in the face, the wide-open eyes.

Jeff’s found a classic rock station but the speakers have seen better days. He said they should pay attention to that last though. Maybe she’ll tip over and die in a few months. Would be a shame to invest in a new stereo for a corpse.

Jeff’s directing them up west, going a steady sixty. Taking it easy, let you get to know her, how ’bout some Mickie D’s if we find one, huh? “I feel like milkshakes. Plural.”

Jeff’s in sunglasses and jeans and wife beater and he smells even worse than the truck. It’s a good hundred out there, maybe hundred-ten in here. Hard to get a good deal for a new AC this time of the year in fucking on-fire Texas.

“You know you’ve got your balls out, right?”

Jared looks down at himself and hastily adjusts his junk.

“Y’know, you could have just put on actual _pants_.” Jared throws a guilty look at Jeff who’s squinting at his Hey These Could Be Swimming Trunks You Don’t Know That For Sure boxer shorts. Jeff’s got one hand on the wheel and his other arm draped out-over where the window would be. He squints again. Traffic is semi-busy on this Saturday noon. “You do that to yourself?”

Jared doesn’t understand for a blessed moment. Then he does. Shifts his legs closed, and turns to look back out the window.

A short silence, just the creaks and efforts of the truck.

“Are those burns? Are you _burning_ yourself?”

“S-stop—talking.”

Hesitation. Then, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Sorry.”

Jared wraps his arms around his middle, and exhales sharply, wind and hair in his eyes.

They don’t talk until Jeff places their orders at the drive-thru: three vanilla shakes out of which Jared gets one. They drink parked in the shade of the building. The heat is suffocating. Jared’s back is very much glued to the seat.

Jeff burps and sighs before going for his second shake. Slows down halfway through it, leaned back far into the seat. They’re getting baked alive in here.

Jared hears, “Hey,” and looks over at Jeff, who’s undoing his jeans.

The initial cold of the cup in Jared’s hand has already started to fade, makes way for condensation that will evaporate soon, and Jeff is pushing his jeans down his hip. He’s naked underneath and sporadically covers his half-flashed junk with the hand still holding his cup, and the side of his leg is exposed now.

“Not a single razor at our house since Daddy ran away an’ all that. Only that lady shit Mom would use. Steak knives worked just fine.” Jared watches Jeff’s fingers splay over the wild spread of scars. Jeff points at a particularly fat one of them. “Day I got my Boy Scouts knife. Best day of my goddamn life.”

Jared can’t look away—it’s fascinating and devastating in equal parts. Relieving and crushing. He hadn’t seen them before, couldn’t tell them apart from the stretch marks or something. He can’t even remember what he must have thought now that he _knows_.

Jeff begins hauling his jeans back up, and Jared blinks, licks his lip, turns to look down at his milkshake.

Jeff tells him, “It gets easier,” and Jared puts the straw back into his mouth when he hears Jeff slurping again.

~

Eve’s not in school this Friday either.

Jared substitutes lunch for a chain of smokes. Keeps living in the same sweater he’s been wearing for two weeks now. He tosses his lighter after class in fear of what he might make himself do if he kept it.

He’s not stopping by home. Threw some pantry contents and a fresh pair of underwear and his music into his backpack this morning already and nestles into Jeff’s sofa, stereo on, sandwiches in his lap. She doesn’t have Jeff’s number.

Jeff comes home eventually. He’s bringing groceries which Jared turns into meatloaf, gravy, boiled potatoes. Jeff stays appeased until around eleven.

A leery side glance. His hand digs deep into the chips bag. “What are you still doing here?”

“I was thinking, uh… Could I spend the night? Maybe?”

Jeff’s mouth splits into a chip-crumbs framed smirk. “What, did you get in trouble?”

“No? Uh, I won’t bother you. I’ll take the couch.”

“No, seriously, what did you do?”

Jeff sucks his greasy fingers into his mouth and puts the chips away, and, shit. Okay. You went over this. Just say your line. “I got an F in math. Again.”

Jeff squints over at him, and Jared forces his eyes not to flicker away.

But Jeff observes, “You’re lying,” and then, much softer, “Seriously, we lie now? C’mon, you can tell me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Bull.” Jeff scoots up the couch some. Has his eyebrows drawn in that too-soft way Jared hates to be looked at, and so he turns back to the TV. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna. But at least admit that you’re not telling the truth.”

Jared frowns at the dusty screen, grips his notebook harder, circles his pen harder. “I did get an F. But.”

“That’s not why you’re hiding.”

Jared shakes his head and slouches deeper over his scribblings.

“Fair enough.” Jared hears another beer cap coming off. “Well, if you ever change your mind. You know where I’ll be.”

“Okay.”

“Whatever it is. You hear me?” A sip, a suppressed belch. “Your age, I used to get in so much shit. All the time. So don’t hold back on me. I’m not judging. _Or_ snitching.”

Jared nods, and begins a row of neat parallel lines.

It’s way past midnight when Jeff turns off the TV, sits up, stretches. He gathers the empty bottles and carries them to the kitchen. Jared is about to store his music away when he notices him standing in the doorway, frowning at Jared, scratching his belly.

Jeff nods his chin towards the couch. “You sure?”

Jared looks at the couch, back at Jeff, and nods.

“There’s a perfectly good bed upstairs, just sayin’. I wouldn’t mind. Y’don’t take up much space anyway.”

“It’s fine. I don’t wanna bother you.”

Jeff shrugs, yawns. Jared can hear him scratching his stubbly neck. “Your funeral, kid.”

Jared has a last piss, brushes his teeth. He strips out of his jeans and lays them over the back of the armchair. A blanket is draped over the overflowing magazine rack. Kinda scratchy, but it will do.

The couch is not long enough for him to stretch his legs out. He can lay on his back, it’s wide enough, but so sat-through the middle of it dips dramatically, bows his back out. He can hear Jeff gargling mouthwash upstairs. How first the floorboards and, ultimately, the bed groan under his weight. Jared can hear the bed springs creaking. But Jeff settles soon enough.

The view into the garden is dark, and blue, and peaceful. The occasional autumn breeze gently sways the bushes, the trees. It’s very quiet now. Morgan doesn’t own a single ticking clock. The cushions smell like Morgan, his failing deodorant. Jared uses his arm as a barrier between them and his face.

He’s tired. He’s always tired. As relaxing as the afternoon was, hanging out with Morgan, and eating, and watching TV, now that he’s by himself again, the back of his brain comes back online. The part he can ignore as long as he doesn’t let himself be defenseless. That part that likes to remind him about what he doesn’t want to remember: his missed opportunities. His failings.

Eve’s probably gone to bed a while ago. Maybe cuddled up with her sisters, or all by herself. Cried, or is crying. Jared remembers her nana remembering him, name and all. He’d helped her with her TV one time, and she’d insisted he’d stay for dinner whenever Eve and him would be over. She was very slow in everything she did, back then already. But she did it all, and she smiled through it. Inside, she had been there, a hundred percent.

Maybe he could pick Eve up and drop her off, take her out to dinner after the main event. Or, no, they usually have some kind of lunch once the church shit is done with, right? Or…geez. Gypsies don’t even go to church, do they? Maybe it works totally different. Well, but it’s still a funeral. Maybe even a wake. Nana was so loved. They’d surely do a wake for her.

Jared turns to the other side, faces the back of the sofa now. He scratches at his elbow and stares beyond the shit-brown swirls of fabric, beyond the wall. He isn’t here.

It’s been so long. How long does one usually _need_? Is there even anything like _getting over it_ for this kinda stuff? But people go to several funerals in their life. Some people bury their own children, and their parents die someday as well, so. She needs you. She has her family but she says she needs _you_ , specifically you, because nobody gets her like you do. She’d do the same for you. She’d be with you _right now_ if you were in that same position.

What are you doing. What are you _doing_.

Back to the bathroom. A single bare light bulb shows off all the dust and beginning rust. Jared rinses the blood off his arm, from underneath his fingernails. Sink and tiles are an ugly grayish green. Seventies, fifties, something like that. Probably.

Jared’s eyes meet his reflection’s. Pale, sunken-in cheeks. Pimples. Greasy hair that hangs off his skinny skull. Yeah, skinny skull. As in, most people have more flesh between bone and skin. Unlike Jared.

Jeff and him looked alike so much, as children. Maybe he’d looked like him, too, at this age. Would’ve shot up just like him. Would he have been taller, or would Jared have outgrown him eventually? Maybe he’d understood Jared, too. Felt like him. Gone through the same shit.

The digital radio on Jeff’s nightstand reads four twenty-two. Jeff’s grumbling and grunting like a woken giant even though Jared hasn’t said a word. He tries to apologize but Jeff just tugs one of the blankets from underneath himself and shoves it to the empty side of the bed. Jared climbs in, and curls up, and wills his eyes closed.

~

Eve sits in their usual spot during lunch break. Is smoking, and he knows she sees him, because she tenses up and turns away just a little more.

He comes up to her, sits next to her at a polite distance that she extends further. He drops his backpack, slouches with his elbows on his knees. Rubs at his chin eventually, stares over at and through playing children, little groups of teens chatting and keeping to themselves. Everyone’s invisible.

Going back is impossible. He knows that. But, God. Can’t they just pretend it didn’t happen? Just move on? She knows this is hard for him too, that he didn’t bail because of laziness or unwillingness. She could at least cut him _some_ slack, he thinks.

He forces a mumbled, “How’s it going?” and she snaps, “How do you _think_ it’s going?”

He fumbles his fingers together. “Sorry.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’m really, really sorry.”

“You’re so selfish, you know that? I _needed_ you!” The muttered _I know_ s make her even more furious. “Where even where you? I came looking for you since you wouldn’t pick up the goddamn phone, and your mom thought you were at _my_ place!? So what the fuck? What the _fuck_ , Jared?!”

He tries, “I just couldn’t, sorry,” and, “You know why I couldn’t,” and she backhands him and he notices he’s much closer to her so maybe he scooted closer and it’s his fault, must have been. He tells her, “Sorry,” again, and she hits him again, and rushes to her feet and hurries away, sobbing.

Gasps turn into sputtered laughter and howls around him and he cups the stinging side of his cheek. The voices turn to words now, to leering faces and whistles, and Jared grabs his backpack and runs.

~

Jared’s blinking up through tears and smoke. His stomach is vibrating with the music and his head hurts anyway—the heavy stab-drum of blood and he rakes his nails down his throat again and roars, hiccups another sob. He flails around to curl up on his side.

That Corey sings about the exact thing that’s going on inside his head is a cyanide pill shade of comfort.

It’s another two hours or so until Morgan will be home. Should be enough time to air out the house, later.

It’s not. “Have you been smoking in here?”

Jared sits perfectly still, knees hugged to his chest, and he says, “No,” and Jeff slams the beer crate onto the kitchen counter. He’s coming straight at Jared, and Jared tries to duck and cower away but Jeff gets the collar of his tee and pulls. Jared’s forearms scramble to protect his face from hits that don’t come.

Jeff barks, “What did I tell you! Repeat the conditions, I know you’re not dumb!”

“No smoking no drugs no taking beer when you’re not around n-no, no touching the car, and—”

“Exactly—no smoking!” Jeff tosses him back down into the armchair. “What’s so difficult about taking your ass ten fucking feet outside to tar your fucking lungs? Can’t you walk _ten fucking feet_? Are you _that_ fucking useless?”

Jared tries, “No.”

“Yeah, _no_! So, what? Are you _trying_ to make me angry? Do you _want_ me to throw you out? Because we both know that’s what I told you’s gonna happen if you don’t fucking LISTEN to me!”

“I won’t do it again.”

“You better not, because there’s two strikes to be had and you just spent one of them! Jesus!”

Jeff roars, and kicks a nearby chair hard enough for it to skid and tumble over. Jared hears him stalking around the room like a tiger on a leash, and Jared digs his nails deeper into his forearms and feels his chin quivering and the pressure building. He might be rocking back and forth, but he can’t stop.

“Can’t you be an asshole to your fucking _parents_? What did _I_ do to you, huh?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You better be!” Hesitation, then. A less furious tone. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jared stammers that he’s sorry again and his voice breaks through it, and he wipes his arm across his face and he should probably run now, should probably lock himself in the bathroom or something, god, why do you have to be this fucking awkward?

Morgan asks in bewilderment, “Are you fucking _crying_?” and Jared sobs, “No,” and frantically wipes his face again.

Jeff doesn’t ask any further and maybe that’s worse, because it leaves all the silence for Jared’s ugly sobbing noises, snotty nose included. He can’t look at anything or anyone, even when it’s over, when he’s just grabbing his knees and has his head draped heavy on top of them. Aborted sniffing, and maybe Morgan’s left the room, whatever, it must be super pathetic to be watching this. Jared wouldn’t blame him.

Jared’s too weak to escape the touch to his shoulder as much as his instincts tell him to. His throat seizes up again when the pat becomes a heavy weight, a gentle rub.

“You done?”

Jared gives a minimal nod.

“I’ll get us some coffee ready, how ’bout that?”

Jared tries to say, “Okay,” but not much comes out. But Jeff must have picked it up, since Jared can hear him rummaging through the kitchen soon enough.

Jeff pulls two of the chairs outside. They’re safe from the sun in the little alcove the patio is settled into. The air is scorching dry but the smell of the nearby forest, the dying grass on Morgan’s lawn, is soothing.

The bitter coffee clears some of the drowsiness between Jared’s ears. His eyes hurt like fuck. The scratches burn with the fresh sweat his skin is pouring out here.

Morgan settles in next to him. They are facing the bushes, the edge of the forest.

“I shouldn’t have screamed at you like that. The heat is fucking me up and they were out of the jerky I wanted _and_ the good hot sauce, and I come home to my place smelling like an ashtray… I overreacted.”

“It’s fine.” Jared nods into his cup. “I fucked up, so.”

“You look like shit.”

Jared sips more coffee.

“Bad day?”

Jared nods.

“We should put something on those. You got in there pretty deep, buddy.”

Jared cups his neck. “It’s n-not that bad,” and it’s not. He’s done worse.

Jeff pushes off his chair already. “Lemme clean ’em out at least. C’mon, off with the shirt.”

Jared’s left out on the patio. He holds onto his cup of coffee and it takes him almost as long to convince himself of taking his shirt off as it takes Jeff to gather the little medical supplies he apparently has strewn across the house.

“Okay, so…” Jeff’s voice trails off at the sight. Jared looks up at him and down to his feet then, fumbles with his fingers in his lap.

All Jeff inquires further is that Jared stands up so he doesn’t have to bow down. Alcohol-dipped cotton has him clenching his teeth but he relaxes eventually. His eyes are closed, his face is turned away.

Jeff carefully cleans the freshest wounds. “Your parents know?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“And?”

Jared shrugs. “I told them they can’t s-s-stop me from doing it. They gave up, I guess.”

“You’ve been at it for quite some time now, huh.”

“Since I can rem-m-member.”

Jeff just says, “Hm,” and dabs a fresh cotton ball over remotely-healed scabs.

It feels good. To have his eyes closed, and to be touched so gently. The initial burn of the alcohol makes way for relief. Jared can smell the hunger on Jeff’s breath. “They sent me to a shuh-sh-shrink, back when I was a kid. But it felt like he was thinking I was r-r-retarded or s-somethin’. The way he spoke to m-me? I couldn’t take him s-seriously.” Jared watches the cotton dragging over his skin. The dark rims of dirt under Jeff’s nails. “He was w-w-worried. That I’d stab myself, or somethin’. Even though I told him—that I just like. How it feels.”

“You like it when it hurts?”

Jared feels himself smiling. “I kn-know it sounds weird.”

“Not at all. I know lots of people who feel the same way.” Jeff wriggles his eyebrows at him and Jared has to actually laugh at the implied message he’s probably not even supposed to be picking up.

Jeff finishes and they continue drinking their coffee. Jared has long forgotten his tee on the ground when Jeff says, “Y’know, you don’t have to be ashamed, alright? Always with your sweaters an’ that shit. I’m the last person you’d have to hide around.” He pats the side of his leg and Jared nods at him, tells him, “Okay.”

Jared dozes off on the couch. It’s beginning to get dark outside by the time he wakes up, disoriented and sweaty but filled with a sense of calmness, of safety.

He blinks over at Jeff who’s side-eyeing him from the armchair, facing the TV and digging a toothpick around in his mouth. The house smells like steak and onions.

Jared stretches and begins to sit up. Hears, “Is that a tattoo?”

He rubs at his eyes. “Huh?”

“I thought you did it with a ballpoint but it didn’t come off when I rubbed it with the alcohol.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He looks down at himself and touches the fingerpad-sized circle. “It’s old. Eve did it.”

“Homemade?”

“Yeah.”

Jeff whistles. “Badass.”

Jared smirks, and goes to raid the kitchen for whatever Morgan left for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has both sad + sexy stuff, please always keep the tags in mind.

Morgan pulls them back into town while Jared is burying the urge to claw, and rip, and dig. Got it pretty much under control by the time they’re stopping by that one semi-good ice cream place this rathole of a town has to offer.

“I’m a vanilla kinda guy,” explains Jeff, reaching for his wallet between his massive ass and the worn-down seat. “What do you want? My treat.”

“Vanilla’s fine.”

“Right? It’s the simple things in life,” says Morgan, trying a smile, a wink. He climbs out the truck and returns not much later.

They have their drinks in silence. Jared’s trying to melt into the door just so he doesn’t have to be here.

Again, his driving lesson ended even before it began. He’s trying, really. Just… Hell, maybe it’s just not meant to happen.

“Anywhere else you wanna go?”

Jared shrugs, swirls the plastic straw through what won’t fit into his clenched stomach anymore.

“We could drive by her place,” Morgan smirks. “Show off your cool new wheels.”

“She hates it.”

“Now that’s just rude. You could be giving her lifts to all her little playdates, if she wanted.”

Jared shrugs into the yellow-ish mush of frozen milk.

“Name one guy who wouldn’t wanna have a cool truck like this.” Morgan finishes his shake with a full slurp. “She should be happy for you, ’s what _I’m_ saying.”

“My brother died in a. A c-car accident. When we were kids.”

Silence takes over the truck.

Jared keeps stirring his shake.

Morgan eventually blurts, “Wait. Seriously?”

Jared nods, eyes strict and numb on his cup. What the hell. Did he really just tell him all that…?

“You better not be joking. This isn’t funny, Jared.”

“It’s true. Ask a-a-anyone.” What the hell. What the fuck.

Morgan doesn’t reply.

Slow traffic is rolling by outside. There’s a conveniently placed kindergarten not far from the ice cream place.

Jeff Morgan takes a devastated, deep breath, and wipes his palm across his face after sighing it back out. Jared hears him placing his empty cup in the holder between them, clearing his sinuses, turning the keys.

They’re back home too soon, and Jared fucked up.

He hesitates to trail after Morgan who walks up his driveway without another word, without a goodbye, or even looking at Jared. Jared’s still got his milkshake clasped in his hands.

He throws a nervous glance towards the kitchen window—deserted—and hurries after Morgan.

He walks in on Morgan pulling the scotch from one of the upper cabinets in the kitchen. Morgan throws him an unimpressed glance and puts two shot glasses down on the counter.

Jared lingers in the doorway between living room and kitchen with the unmistakable weight of dread in his guts. Jeff Morgan fills the two glasses.

“I, uh. I shouldn’t have—”

“Shut up and get over here.”

Jared does that. The glasses are so dwarfed, held by Jeff’s meaty fingers.

Morgan extends one of the shots towards Jared, who confusedly checks the guy’s expression for a hint of this being a joke, but Morgan’s looking straight at him and there’s nothing but sincerity.

Jared puts his cup on the counter to accept the drink.

“I can’t believe you didn’t let me know earlier,” says Morgan as he raises his shot to clink glasses with Jared. “You’re an asshole, Jared Padalecki. A big ol’, stupid asshole.”

They drink to that.

Jared’s throat hacks half of it back up, and he splutters, and it burns, and he finds stability with his hand on the countertop. He hears Morgan setting his glass back down with a decisive click, hears him refilling it immediately. He slurps what’s left in his own, sets his glass down next to Morgan’s.

“Yeah, as if.” Morgan shoves Jared’s glass away with a scoff and throws back shot number two.

Jared watches that, licks his lip, hand still on the counter, knees hella weak. “I’m sorry.”

“Save it,” warns Morgan, slams his glass down but doesn’t go straight back to the bottle. Considers it, though. He sighs, both arms stemming into the counter. He drops his head, wipes his hand down his face. “Shit. Man, you let me _beg her to let you drive_.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You let me buy you a goddamn truck and you’re— _fuck you_ , I mean—didn’t you think it would be _important_ for me to know that if I let you behind the wheel? Didn’t you even think _that far_?”

Jared’s right grabs his left elbow. “I’m, I.” His eyes flicker up and down, to Morgan who hasn’t stopped glaring him down and to the chipped floor tile just between them, the tips of his sneakers. Morgan doesn’t interrupt him, so he blurts, “I didn’t w-want you t-to know.”

Morgan roars, “Are you _out of your mind_?!” and Jared rushes, panicked, “I didn’t w-want t-to be p-pitied, OKAY?!”

Morgan’s mouth sets tighter, and he narrows his eyes at Jared. “You’re an idiot, anyone’s ever told you that?”

“I kn-n-now how it goes, a-alright?! I _hate—_ to be l-looked at, l-like that! An-nd then, then you’d.” Jared stops himself there, teeth churning and he’s turning away, both arms in front of him cradling the opposite elbow. Why’d he bring it up. Why couldn’t he just have shut up?

Morgan inquires, “Then I’d what,” and follows him. He looks really fucking pissed and that’s all your fault; Morgan grabs him by the arm and repeats, louder, “I’d _what_ , Padalecki, fucking _look_ at me when you’re talking to me!”

“You’d—” Jared yanks at his arm, but Morgan won’t let him go, and, this is it. Just spill, it’s over anyway. “You’d be n-nice to me,” he yells, “a-a-and then I, I wouldn’t be nice enough b-back to you, and then you’d—you’d _hate_ me!”

Morgan’s still got his arm, and Jared yanks again, and he won’t come free, and he growls with the frustration. Feels the tears shooting in and the burn from Jeff’s grip and he snuffles, wetly, trapped, “You’d throw m-me out,” he sobs, “If you’d known, you’d expect that I’d, I’d get _better_ ’c-c-cause you’re so nice, but I’m-m-m, I don’t, I n-n-never, so—let _go_ of m-m-me, I’ll punch your f-f-fucking t-t-teeth out if you don’t!”

Jared manages to wrench himself free, now. Cups the sore immediately and shakes with his sob, and somehow he’s got the fridge in his back now, did they move _that_ far, and his legs give in and he slumps to the floor, knees pulled to his chest, and he curls up to cry.

Head trapped between chest and knees and arms he spits, “FUCK YOU!” and groan-hauls for air, rocks, pulls his limbs tighter, yells it over and over again until his throat won’t cooperate anymore. And then he just bawls.

He can’t hear anything but that, feel anything but that. His own snot and spit and his pathetic crying, the anger and the pain and the dull heat, lack of oxygen. The sopping wetness on his face; sweat and condensation and tears and whatever. There is nothing else.

It takes a long while for it to stop. He tires out, as he usually does. Feels heavier here, with the shitty AC and all that.

He takes a ragged, deep breath, clears his sinuses. Begins to tune his ears back in, listens for a hint of Morgan. What he picks up is the TV, getting clearer the longer he listens.

Jared rubs his face over the ripped denim on his knees before he untucks it from his self-made cave, careful, sweaty, eyes so puffy and painful the warm afternoon sun filling the room is a straight up agony. He peers into the living room, where Jeff Morgan lounges in his armchair and pays him no attention at all.

Jared gets up and into the bathroom as quietly as he can. Invisible, non-existent.

He avoids his reflection as he shovels cold water onto his face, his hair. Eyes closed, he breathes, clears his nose. He spits into the sink and presses his palms flat over his eyes. He towels himself dry sporadically with the hem of his t-shirt.

He’s almost made it to the front door when he hears Morgan inquiring, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Jared stills. Hesitates, before he opens his mouth to speak, but Morgan is quicker.

“Get your ass over here.”

Jared drags his feet back into the living room. Has his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders drooping. Morgan isn’t looking at him as he points at the sofa, but he’s gathering the remote, and he puts the TV on mute.

Jared sinks onto the edge of the sofa. He is too tired to look back at Morgan when the guy turns to face him.

Jeff Morgan’s slouching till he’s got his elbows on his knees, chin on his knuckles (in Jared’s peripheral). He’s speaking low. Jared hates everything about it.

“You’ve been talking all kinds of shit. Not only today, but today in particular.”

Jared blinks but his eyes won’t open all the way. He knows where this is going.

“I’m angry with you. Prolly should be way angrier, but shit, I ain’t no role model.” Morgan sighs through his nose. His head tips to the side, just so. “You’re angry. You’re hurt. Sure, whatever. But don’t you make this about me. I _never_ ,” he insists, “did _anything_ that’d justify being yelled at like you just did. Whatever’s going on right now, your anger? That’s all you.”

Jared’s nail grazes along the seam inside of his pocket.

“You remember how I said you can talk to me? That I offered you that? Speak.”

Jared’s eyes flicker up. He nods.

“ _Speak_.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah _what_.”

“You said that.”

“Exactly,” says Morgan, leaning even farther in. “I said that. I see you grinding your ass out there, I see that Mary Sue of a whiny little bitch that you are, and—believe me: I’m the last fucking guy interested in your seedy, boring, teenage, spunk-filled girl problems, okay? You make me praise the Lord I don’t have any kids, because Jesus, you have issues, and I’ve been through some shit myself, don’t think I haven’t. But, kid. For Christ’s sake.”

Their knees are almost touching. Everything in Jared itches to scoot away, get up, just get out. His bile has been up his gullet for minutes now and he’s holding Jeff’s gaze just to not give him the satisfaction.

“Don’t fucking think you know me. Don’t take whatever those assholes did or do, and think I’ll be anything like that. Because I fucking mean what I say,” and Jeff’s putting his forefinger down on his own knee hard enough it’s bending at the first joint, “and if I say I think you’re a dumb piece of shit, that’s the truth, and if I say you can talk about your stupid boring-ass problems with me, _that’s the truth_. I swear to you, if you slice your wrists one day and my name’s in that note, I’ll go and take a shit on your fucking grave, because you don’t get to decide to spit in my face and then blame me for getting into your spitting range in the first place!”

They’re holding up eye contact. Until Jared breaks.

Flutters his eyes away and then back, shrugs, weakly, and blurts, “Fine,” and the gears in his brain turn and turn and turn and leave him frowning, confused.

Jeff sits back, frowning still as well but calmer now, and...wasn’t this supposed to be the Fuck Off And Never Come Back part of the conversation?

“You can be the angsty teen anywhere else, but not here. You wanna be treated like a man—act like it. You wanna keep the truck, you wanna keep hanging out here, having a good time—you play after my rules. No more bullshit.”

Jared’s mouth opens with the urge to reply, but, shit, what would that even be?

Morgan’s got one arm draped over the armrest, the other hooked and peeling under his chin. He nods towards Jared. “The day it happened. How old were you?”

Jared’s frown deepens. “Uh. Eight?”

“And him?”

“Eleven?”

“Did you see it?”

“See what?”

“The crash.”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Of course you did.” Jeff Morgan deflates with his groan and kneads between his eyes. “Tell me what happened.”

Jared shifts, tries to re-find Morgan’s eyes, but they’re closed, listening. Waiting. “Uhm,” says Jared, “we were riding o-our bikes? Playing. I guess. Outside the h-house. The guy didn’t s-see him, n-n-nobody knows, why. Said he, just couldn’t s-see him, just.” Jared shrugs, unseen. “He hit ’im, and he f-f-flew. Like, a hundred feet?”

“Jesus.”

“He was dead, straight away. N-no chance. ’S what they said.” Jared shifts again, knuckles dragging in his pockets now, fidgeting.

“What did you do?”

“Huh?”

“You saw it. What was your reaction?”

“It happened so, uh…quick? I didn’t understand, at first. Just, the bang, an’. I froze? Until I, I heard—Mom, s-screaming, or something. Yeah, I think she s-s-screamed. One of his arms, just.” Jared drags one of his hands from his pockets to wave it at the empty floor between sofa and coffee table. He’s looking there, too, shrugs, hand back into his pocket. Eyes back to Morgan, who’s looking at him, chin in his hand, concern written all over him. “That,” says Jared. “ _That_ , your f- _face_. That’s what I.” He stops himself and exhales through his nose, looks down at his knees.

Morgan tells him, gently, “That must’ve been horrible.”

Jared shrugs, and begins to bob his legs. Mouth thin, he considers, “I can’t rem-m-member much, after the main…thing? Stopped speaking, for a-a-awhile. I had a sh-sh-shrink, but.” He shrugs again.

“That where your stutter’s from?”

Jared’s glare flicks straight to Morgan as he spits, “No?”

Morgan actually offers, “Sorry,” and Jared’s mouth blabbers, “Whatever,” without his consent. His mouth presses quiet again, eyes down. Sighing, eyes rolling.

“I mean, I. I was w-weird, already, before that. But he’d h-h-hang with m-m-me, all the time. He w-wouldn’t have n-n-needed to. That’s just how he was.”

Jeff Morgan asks, “What was his name?” and Jared’s spine pulls a little tighter.

“Uh,” he says. “Jeff.”

Morgan’s brow furrows, harder, and harder. He blinks, confused.

Jared repeats, helplessly, “His name was J-J-Jeff. So.”

Jeff Morgan’s face crumbles with his groan as he sags deeper into his armchair.

“Of course it was,” he mumbles, “of fucking course.”

~

EXT. FOREST – NIGHT.

Pan from treetops to EVE’s back of the head. We see her bent over, naked, JARED’s hand clasped around her waist. JARED’s cock is pounding into her wet pussy.

EVE  
_(moans)_ Oh, we, we can’t, Jare, y-you’ve, no, I’m…

JARED fucks her harder.

(Jared’s lashes flutter. A breeze brushes his cheek.)

EVE  
_(whines)_ You can’t come inside me! Please!

EVE strokes her labia where JARED’s cock is pumping into her. EVE uses both hands to spread her ass further.

EVE  
Here. C’mon, here—

JARED pulls out of EVE’s pussy and sticks his cock into her ass instead. EVE moans in ecstasy. EVE begins shaking violently and fingers her clit while JARED fucks her in deep, long strokes. EVE gasps, clearly overwhelmed by the pleasure JARED elicits in her.

(Jared’s middle and thumb circle tighter right underneath his glans.)

EVE  
_(whimpers)_ Yes, oh, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—

JARED grunts as he shoots his load into EVE’s tight little ass. EVE’s insides milk JARED’s cock in the most perfect, warmest, tightest—

Jared snaps his eyes open as he takes a shuddering breath and catches his load in a ready-held paper tissue. He stares at the planks making up the roof of the fort, the flickers of sunlight ever-moving, dancing.

Norman is sitting at Morgan’s table out on Morgan’s patio. He’s wearing sunglasses and trunks and sandals and nurses a beer, raises his head slightly so he might be looking straight at Jared. Jared can’t tell.

“Is he home?”

Norman rolls the bottle between his fingers. “Jeff,” raised voice, but facing Jared still, “Peter Pan wants to know if you’re home.”

Jared narrows his eyes at the guy.

Jeff grunts, “What?” from inside, looks over to Jared once he’s made it out on the patio. He seems disheveled like people do when they just have fallen out of bed, and considering he’s only wearing Y-fronts, that might as well be the case. He groans, steps out further into the sunlight. Accepts the beer Norman had just been drinking out of, and takes a sip of it.

Squints at Jared, against the sun. “You need anything?”

Jared digs his heels deeper into the patchy grass. “Can I hang out at your place?”

Jeff drinks, and frowns. “Not a good time today, bud.”

“Just for an hour.”

“Last time I checked, your house was still standing.”

Jared’s eyes pan over to Norman, who’s smirking to himself for his un-clever line. Farmer’s tan and saggy tits. Stringy-thin hair. Fucking stupid ugly-ass sunglasses.

Morgan doesn’t try to pretend to be of a different opinion than his buddy, and Jared glares at him, too, before circling back towards the street.

He would have turned left instead of right even if he hadn’t heard Norman grumble, “Fucking bitch,” behind his back.

Morgan keeps the spare key under a loose stone tile on the steps. If Jared’s good at anything at all, it’s turning keys within locks without making a sound.

He’s slipped into the house and up the stairs and into Jeff’s bedroom faster than he can comprehend how extremely fucking dumb this entire idea is. All he knows is that he apparently fits into the closet, and that nobody’s coming upstairs to throw him out, so they didn’t hear him. And they won’t. They fucking won’t.

The longer he stands in here the more he realizes he’s gonna regret this. A lot.

Thank god he didn’t drink too much back in the fort.

Indefinite time passes—enough time for Jared to go through all phases of regret, and self-hate, and even some kind of acceptance. He deserves to have both legs fallen asleep on him, and his shoulders killing him. Yep. Definitely deserves it.

He dozes off, eventually. Startles awake when they’re not only on the steps but already in the room, right here. Just this cheap wooden crap door between Jared and them.

Jared’s been here before. Different rooms, different people, different times.

The buzz behind his eyes tells him it has yet to lose its charm.

Jeff has shed his briefs already and makes out with Norman while lowering him onto the bed. Norman hiss-laughs soft, lets him crawl between his legs. Tips his head back, lets Jeff nose along his throat. Jared sees all of it in profile, crystal-clear.

How Morgan kisses down that chest, that stomach. Pulls those trunks down until Norman’s dick leaps free, and Jeff smiles at it, flirts his eyes open and up towards Norman while tonguing the tip. Norman laughs again.

Jeff keeps looking up at him while he takes care of him. Laps, and suckles, and Jared’s cock throbs in sympathy. Jeff’s got a huge mouth. A fat tongue.

Norman sighs, back on his elbows and shrugging the hair out of his face, once Jeff really starts sucking him off. Helps getting his trunks off completely and ends in an awkward splay of limbs that, in Jared’s twisted head, still looks pretty erotic. Sighs, “Yeah, yeah,” and Jared can see Jeff putting a hand on him, circling his thumb between Norman’s ass cheeks.

The sound of Jeff spitting on Norman’s ass has Jared flabbergasted.

He swallows, licks his dry lip, everything, all of it. Cranes his neck some, carefully.

Jeff’s mouth is back on that dick, produces sucking noises Jared is familiar with from his clip collection  but not yet from _him_ , them, here, and oh shit Jared has no idea yet how exactly he can even jerk off in here without them noticing _but he has to find a way_.

Jeff hums appreciatively. “Still so creamy.”

“And whose fault is that.”

“True, true.” Jeff laughs, softly. Laps down the underside of Norman’s cock, nuzzles his balls. “Y’know I like you dirty.”

Jared lowers his hand over the throb of his own cock in the search for any friction at all. Hears Norman going, “Stop talking. Get in there,” and steels himself, tries to circle his fingers around the heft of himself.

Jeff stands, still smiling, still with one hand between Norman’s legs. He rucks him closer by the hips, muscles bulging and he’s not _all_ fat at all, lifts his friend’s hips off the mattress so seemingly easy and Norm’s head falls back with a throaty, “Fuck,” and it feels vibrant, alive.

Jared’s seen Morgan’s cock before. He can’t deny that it’s impressive, seeing it disappear in a skinny ass like Norman’s.

Weirdly…satisfying.

Norm’s hips are hitching, rolling, his face not exactly the epitome of pleasure, but that’s how Jeff’s guys usually look. Jeff laugh-grunts through his teeth, grinning down at him, slightly out of breath already.

“God, fuck.” Norm curls, uncurls. Tries to lift himself to his elbows but fails, finally surrenders, gets a solid grip on Jeff’s wrists. “Give it to me. C’mon.”

The bed is creaking so wildly Jared swears it will collapse any second. But this is the first time he’s hearing it from this up close, so. They’ll probably be fine.

He swears he can taste it. The smell is…overpowering. Ass, and men. Dirty and stale sweat, spit and beer and Norman groans like he’s being dissected, but Jeff’s not easy on him, so, that’s not too far from the truth.

Jeff’s ass jiggles every time he slams into Norman.

Jared can’t think. Gropes himself over his shorts and can’t think, doesn’t want to, _refuses_.

Norman makes an ugly sound when Jeff bends him deeper, basically in two, and even uglier ones right into the hollow of Jeff’s mouth, up against his tongue, while Jeff pounds him out.

Jared can see everything.

How Jeff’s heavy hairy balls come down on Norm’s tailbone on the downstrokes with a full _thwap_ , the desperate filthy punched-out pussy noises he fucks out of Norman’s shiny-wet asshole. God, he can even tell the shade of violent red that asshole is, how used and stretched and, maybe, while Jared was sleeping, or over at the fort, they…

Norman’s thrashing so hard they both come off the bed. He howls, claws at Jeff’s back and Jared trembles with Jeff’s deeply monsterfied laughter, and Norman seizes and seizes and thrashes his head, locks his ankles over Jeff’s ass. Jeff, who rams into him harder and faster with every beat, until he stills, and Norman sobs, aborted, and Jared’s coming into his pants wide-eyed and zeroed in on Jeff’s pulsing balls.

It drips down the insides of his thighs like too-thick piss.

He feels his jaw trembling.

Jeff untangles the two of them eventually. Rolls them to the side, Norm’s back to Jared and Jeff facing the closet (aka Jared). He combs his fingers through a very quiet Norm’s hair, tucks lonely messy strings of it back behind his ear. Leans in to kiss him on the forehead, and Jared can’t see much of that but they’re kissing, whispering, and Jeff chuckles sweet, and Jared sees a hand rubbing at Jeff’s neck, all lovingly.

Jared’s heart won’t stop beating the hell out of him.

They take turns on the shower and head downstairs. Jared takes the opportunity to sink to the floor, curl his arms around his knees, rests his head on them. He listens to them cooking, watching TV. He’ll probably have to wait until Jeff’s back in here and deep asleep.

The front door opens and closes eventually, and Jared hears Norman’s car pulling out of the driveway. The houses on this road all seem to have thin fucking walls.

Darkness is starting to settle in. Jared can hear the TV still running. Jeff doesn’t seem to be planning to go to bed anytime soon.

Jared tries to remember if you can see the front door from the sofa. Or the armchair. But Jeff usually occupies the sofa, so. No. The path should be clear.

The tricky shit is that he has to be both quiet and quick at the same time. Which usually contradicts itself. He’s on borrowed time. It’s all or nothing.

Jared slips out of the closet as soundless as he can. He is painfully aware of how this fucking floor creaks on every other step, so he slides his feet over the floor, always pressing along the walls.

He’s drenched in sweat by the time he’s made it to the steps.

Okay. The ultimate challenge.

All or nothing, Padalecki.

He’s never, ever, in his painful, short life, moved so very, very slowly.

He doesn’t know how he makes it out the door. How he doesn’t fall over his own legs in the sprint across the street, and he sure as fuck doesn’t regret having his parents ignore him coming home for the first time all day.

He collapses in his room, panting for air and scrambling for his stereo.

He beats off lying right in front of his door, two times.

~

Jared treads from one foot to the other while Karl gives him the wariest of looks through the screen door.

“She said not to let you in, y’know.”

“I’m very sorry. About e-e-every—thing.”

Karl says, “I know,” drained and soft and leans more of his weight against the door frame, arms still crossed in front of his chest. “Me an’ Izzy, we’re not mad or anythin’. You had your reasons, nobody blames you. It’s just…” He shrugs and pulls his eyebrows up with it. His voice dips just a little lower. “You know how she is.”

Jared nods. He didn’t expect Eve to make it this easy on him. He makes another step forward, reaches into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out a bunch of CDs. “Can you give her these?” Karl opens the screen door enough for Jared to reach through and hand over the goods. His hands disappear back into his pockets.

Karl flicks through the CDs, gives a faint smile. “All the things little girls like, huh.”

“She lent them to me. A-a-awhile ago, so.” More shrugging. Shit, it’s hot out today. He should have brought some water for the way back. “Can you t-tell her, that. I’m real sorry?”

“I’ll get it across,” promises Karl. His smile flashes the gold in his teeth before he slips back inside.

Under different circumstances, Jared would linger around, knock on her window or something. But she’s never hit him before, and he doesn’t know how to approach her right after that. She’s probably ashamed (he’d be). Probably still hurt, like a tiny furred something trapped in a cage, lashing out. Nah, he better fuck off. Give her space.

The gravel’s still the same (nobody gives much of a fuck about this place). It crunches under his feet as it did ten years ago already. Some of it must have got their blood on them, still—Jeff’s and Eve’s and Jared’s—but then again the rain probably washed most of that away by now.

Jared pockets a handful of tomatoes from Mrs. Tran’s front yard garden and heads back home.

~

The concept of knowing what his friends’ genitals look like isn’t exactly outrageous to Jared. It doesn’t, in fact, make much difference. If anything, it takes away pressure. There’s no more questions once _that’s_ out of the way, after all.

With Jeff though, it differs from what he has with Eve in the way that he can’t stare as obviously. Dudes don’t do that with other dudes. Big red neon _no_. Jared’s not the brightest bulb in the batch, but he’s picked up that much.

Jared is used to not touching. But looking, that’s another story altogether.

When Jeff’s jeans ride up around his junk (did he gain weight?) or he bends over and his glutes strain, then, well.

Jared can be discreet. He’s got the side glance down to the point.

“No.” He snags the plastic-wrapped steaks right out of Jeff’s clumsy paw. “Let me do that. Watch TV, or s-s-somethin’. I can’t take this anymore.”

Morgan considers him, but does end up leaving the kitchen.

He remembers how Mom used to do this. Way back. (He spends too much fucking time around his mom. Always a mama’s boy.)

He heaves the overflowing plates onto the table. Jeff sits down without needing to be asked. Jared grabs one of the two uncapped beers while Jeff’s already cutting into his share, holding the meat up to the light.

He squints, like he has any knowledge of the matter at all. “Not burned. I’ll give you that.”

“Shut up and eat.”

Jeff says Jared’s promoted to ‘wife’ after licking his plate clean, and Jared pretends to be very offended by it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HAPPENING GUYS.

“You have a smoke?”

“Uh.” Jared pats himself down, frantically, uselessly. Shit, he hadn’t even seen her coming. “I’m, uh. I’m all out. Sorry.”

He ducks away under her glare but feels her slumping down next to him. “Since when’re you _out_? What the fuck.”

“Gotta b-be s-saving for the t-truck.”

She snorts. “Oh, Jesus. Fuck you.”

He considers her from the side, but she’s not looking at him. Her nails are short and the black polish is still perfect. She’s now peeling at it, though.

“That goddamn thing’s the only thing you ever care about anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

“ _Is_. Next thing you know,” she says, snuffling and wiping her nose with the sleeve of her tee, “you’re pawning your stereo, sell all your CDs. Just to buy her, like, new rims.”

Jared begins to laugh and gets her elbow into his ribs.

“I’m serious.”

“’M not gonna sell anything.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Eve keeps picking at her fingers. Swallowed by one of her daddy’s hoodies, she looks even tinier, juvenile. Shit, he hasn’t hugged her in over a week now.

Scott and the others are starting to whisper and point at them, and Jared throws a glare, as superfluous as it might be. Ticks his knees outwards some more to take up more space. He almost misses her, “Do you hate me now?” and does a double-take and hesitates to get his arm around her but then she tells him, “I didn’t mean to…to,” and he pulls the smell of her hair and the bird-weight of her body close to him, tucks her under his arm, up against his tit.

She falls silent immediately, grasps at his tee. He rubs his chin over the crown of her hair until she presses as close as she possibly can. They hold each other like that. The cajoling from all around doesn’t even touch them.

He tells her, “It’s okay,” all whispered and secret, and Eve doesn’t say much more, and that’s okay. She doesn’t have to.

Jared hasn’t stopped holding her hand. “Are you really sure this is okay?”

He says, “Sure,” and fishes for the key under the tile with his free hand.

“Isn’t he gonna be mad?”

“I’m here by m-m-myself a-a-all the time. It’s cool.”

As Jared lets them inside, Eve whispers, “Does he have a gun?”, and it sounds more like excitement than fear.

The door hasn’t even closed right and she’s out of sight already, roaming around. Jared takes off his sneakers and hears the fridge squeaking open. “There’s F-f-froot Loops, if you’re hungry?” He hears a gasp and clinking bottles. “Eve—”

He walks in on her just as she’s about to pop one of the beers open against the countertop. She’s grinning, “C’mon, let’s get wasted!” and he tells her, “No,” stricter than he’d intended and he snatches the bottles out of her hands, stows them back where they belong.

She cocks her too-pretty head. “What’s got _your_ panties in a bunch?”

“Just, don’t. Maybe l-l-later, when he’s—stop.”

“What? I want some potato chips. Oooh, bacon flavored!”

“Just—okay, you c-can, I guess, uh…”

She gives him a deadpan look as she rips the bag open. “What are you, his watchdog? _Relax_.”

Jared grumbles but keeps his mouth shut. Goes for the cereals himself while keeping an ear out for Eve. She’s found the TV and complains about the quality.

“How old is he, eighty? That’s even worse than ours!”

Jared joins her, pushing her aside to have some space on the sofa. “Try the s-s-stereo, though. Here, put this on.”

“Oooh!” She wipes her fingers on her hoodie before receiving the CD from Jared. “I almost forgot I had this! You’re gonna have to treat me for, like, five dinners, before I ever even _consider_ lending you anything again… You’re such a hoarder, you know that?”

He insists, “I didn’t _scratch_ it,” through a mouthful of crunch and milk, and she gives him a huge _whatever_ doll-roll of her eyes.

Eve finds her ways through various buttons instantaneously and feeds _Toxicity_ into the readily opening mouth of the stereo. She turns the volume high before the CD has had a chance to start and Jared chokes warning her; too late. She squeals, delighted by the power of the sound system and Jared’s bowl spills over the sofa as he scrambles to rescue what’s left of their hearing.

Eve exclaims, “That’s AWESOME!” and bolts up from the sofa to keep searching the place while Jared tries his best to clean up the mess he made with the hem of his tee.

So that’s how people usually feel around the two of them, huh.

He growls, “Eve,” and, “Don’t,” but she doesn’t have a care in the world. Closed cabinets and drawers don’t deserve her respect and, hell, Jared would be lying if he hadn’t been doing the exact same thing the first time Morgan left _him_ unsupervised in here.

Just like him, Eve finds the ugly-ass vase and stuffs her hand right in. She gawps at the handful of cash she pulls back out.

A wild smile overtakes her mouth. “Dude…!”

“Put it back.”

“Are you kidding me? Jesus fuck, what’s he do for a living, does he push or something?”

Jared repeats, “Put it _back_ ,” and Eve stuffs her little overflowing hand into the pocket of her hoodie. There’s barely any fight in her when he comes over and takes Jeff’s property right back.

She’s still obviously amused. “What happened to my Jare-bear, huh? C’mon, you used to be _cool_.”

“Stop it.” Jared pushes the vase back where it always is, corrects the angle. “You don’t kn-kn-now him. He’s g-gonna _kill_ us.”

Eve barks a laugh. “I’d love to see Fatty try.”

She can be argued into _Open Water_ and Jeff’s candy stash. Jared eventually has her nuzzled close, his arm around her. She smells like too much sugar and vanilla-coconut shampoo. Simply hearing and feeling her chew relentlessly is, after such a long time apart, Heaven.

Jared tries to stifle his panic when five thirty-three threatens to come around. Cranes his neck when he hears the bike, the keys, and feels Eve stretching out, observing him, the situation.

Jeff strides right to the kitchen, as per usual. Only takes notice of the extra person on his couch when he turns away from the fridge, beer slowing in its wake to get uncapped on the edge of the kitchen counter.

He’s switching eye contact between Eve and Jared, but ends on Jared with extra disappointment.

Jeff scoffs, pops his beer open. “Hope you didn’t get pregnant on my fucking sofa, kitten.”

Jared’s mouth drops open to remind him that shit Jeff I told you it’s not like that, feels the humiliation in his face because what must Eve be thinking he was telling Jeff about her, but Eve’s already snarling, “I’m not that dumb, old man.”

Jeff turns his undivided attention to her, and Jared feels her laying back into his arm, getting comfortable while Jeff strolls back into the living room with pointed calm. “What are you two doing here?”

“Hanging out. He said it’s okay.”

“Well, maybe he shoulda asked me before bringing a playdate.”

“Well, maybe you shoulda been more specific.”

“Jared,” and he gets that glare, “you can’t bring your love dolls here, understand?”

“We weren’t doing a-a-anything.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

“We’re doing you a favor here.”

Eve climbs into Jared’s lap so fluidly and utterly unexpected that Jared’s lizard brain can’t do much but grab her waist. She’s draping over his chest like a sweetheart, and Jared gawps at her, at Jeff, and feels pale.

She purrs, “You can skip the videos and just sniff the cushions.”

Jared kicks at innocent pebbles and refuses to look at the girl dangling from his hand. “That was so unnecessary.”

“Forget him. He sucks.” She holds her cigarette to his mouth and he takes a drag, blows the smoke out of his nose. They keep walking. “He _reeks_ , Jare. His entire house, urgh! And you _hang out_ there?”

Jared insists, “The stereo is great.”

~

Jeff’s out in the back when Jared returns around dawn, tinkers with a bike.

“Don’t get your hopes up. This is Norman’s.”

(Jared rubs his arm and ignores the pink creeping into his ears at how obvious his thoughts must have been.) “For, uh, earlier. I just w-wanted, to… Seriously, there was n-nothing. I had her under control. She didn’t, l-like, d-do anything.” He mentally kicks himself for that, gets a first glare over a shoulder that disappears as soon as it had come. “I told you, we’re n-not together like that.”

“Tell you what.” Jeff leans back to wipe his forearm over his sweaty forehead. He considers his work in front of him, wipes his thumb over an oil stain he’ll have to polish off later. “I don’t know much about girls, but that one? Phew.” Jeff whistles, frowns.

“Yeah. She’s pretty hot.”

“Hot as in ‘keep your hands off her’, you idiot. She’s a maniac.”

Jared falters. “You don’t know her.”

“I’ve seen enough. Trust me.”

Jeff returns his focus to the bike entirely. Jared remains standing behind him just because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself and the accusations against his best friend. How Jeff can be this childish—but, then again, Eve _is_ difficult sometimes.

“Hey, you mind throwing some ’taters in the oven? Didn’t have a chance for dinner yet.”

Jared doesn’t even nod before he wanders off into the kitchen.

He watches Jeff eating over at the table, is settled into the armchair and tired from doing nothing all day.

Jeff slathers some more butter on his current serving.

Jared finally inquires, “How can you tell? About her.”

Jeff shrugs, eats. “The way she was looking at me? I dunno. Urgh.” He shudders with his mouth full. “That gut feeling. Like she could stare straight into my soul. I hate that shit.”

“Oh, she’s a witch.”

“A what now?”

“Like, a w-witch. Y'know, p-p-potions, and stuff? She talks to gods, sometimes.”

Jeff squints.

“So, she’s probably been doing that. She can do that. The s-s-soul staring.”

“Oh, Christ.” Jeff puts down his fork to bury his face in his hands. “Why are you kids so fucking crazy.”

~

“You’re spending more time with that thing than with your own family.”

Jared sits down at the dinner table, ignores mom’s comment and begins to eat. Dad is silent.

“It’s nasty. Have you _seen_ it, Gerald?”

“Seen what now?”

“His _truck_.”

She’s obviously pissed, boring through Dad with her eyes, but Dad shrugs, eats. “As long as he washes his hands after, I don’t see a problem.”

~

She’s bouncing her toddler on her arm and gives Jared a wide but confused smile.

“Aren’t you the kid who…”

“That was a _c-c-cat_ , Miss,” he reminds. “I was, uh—I’m on Adderall, now. I used to, have—p-problems. But I’m better. Now.”

She gives a bunch of rhythmic nods and rolls her lips between her teeth, still smiling.

Jared’s not used to lying so fucking much in such short amounts of time. To speaking so much, period. His cheeks are killing him. But, hey. He winds up with a bunch of numbers, even some fixed date he’s supposed to show up at and get to know some of the dogs. He’ll have to put down a distinct route so he can pick up as many at a time as possible. Yeah, he can work that.

Reassured by this very successful afternoon, he treats himself to a pack of smokes from one of the many shops with a picture of his face taped to the register.

~

Gas money. Smoking money. Music money. Clothes money.

Jared hasn’t had a haircut in a while and hopes Mom’s gonna have mercy at some point.

The weather’s been nice to them this week; a last spurt of warmth before autumn settles in to stay. Jared’s out in tee and jeans only. Night’s coming sooner already, nowadays. He likes the ash-gray swirls of smoke against the dark of the garden. He dwells in every occasion he allows himself another precious cigarette. He used to go through a pack a day, easy. Today, not so much.

The patio door rattles open and Jared turns his head to the guy emerging; tall and ginger and somewhere between lumberjack and porn star. Those eyes eventually find him, and the guy smiles, begins to peel a pack of smokes and a lighter from the back of his (very flattering) jeans.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

They smoke in silence; Jared hidden in the shadows, the guy (Paul? Peter?) bathed in the light beaming from the living room. Jared wonders how he might look without clothes on. How he’ll be in bed, feel, react. What Jeff Morgan might see in him.

It’s long obvious that Jeff doesn’t exactly have a ‘type’. He’s not even prone to a distinctive age range, even though younger guys are rare (but not non-existent). Blond, dark, handsome, ugly, skinny, fat. Just—many. Jared can relate. It must be exciting. Where might Jeff even meet all those guys? At work? At bars, clubs? Jeff doesn’t seem like the party guy.

Paul-Peter has a nice, smooth voice. Eventually begins small talk to which Jared gives non-descriptive replies. Good, yeah, uh-hum, uh-huh. The guy remains friendly though, won’t fucking shut up. It confuses the shit out of Jared until he realizes the guy might be flirting with him.

Which—throws him off.

The guy hints at how long’s Jared gonna stay tonight, and Jared mumbles he’s got school tomorrow, so.

“College?”

“No, like. School. High school.”

Peter-Paul just says, “Oh,” and that’s that.

~

Jared mouths along to J-Mann, on his knees on the front seats and occasionally dipping down to his stomach. His Discman’s hooked to the back of his belt and pulls his jeans down some, but he can’t be bothered. It’s not like anyone’s around.

He’s been scrubbing enough to break a sweat even though he’s pulled the doors closed and is currently stewing in his own juices in his truck. Not all stains come off right, but the smell is getting better, so he must be doing _something_ right.

His hair gets in the way. He really (maybe) should have it cut soon.

He half-stumbles out the truck noticing Jeff watching him, knees wet with fabric cleaner (it burns nice in the newest scratches, unprotected behind ripped jeans). Jared wipes his face with his forearm and tugs his headphones off, greedily accepts the held-out cup of coffee.

“You hungry yet?”

Jared chugs the coffee and shrugs.

Jeff tries, “Burgers would be great.”

Jared wipes his hands on his jeans, gathers the cleaning stuff. He stores everything away to where Jeff told him to pull it out of the cobweb-infested cubby in the first place. He washes his hands before he goes to work in the kitchen. Jeff watches him from a safe distance, propped against the door frame, nursing what smells like his fifth Saturday afternoon beer.

“You're so domestic. Mom must be so proud of her little princess.”

Jared kneads meat and spices and breadcrumbs and shrugs. “I n-never cook a-at home.”

“You know you don't have to, right?”

Jared shrugs.

~

Eve pulls a face. Jared doesn’t bother to look away from the screen of her tiny-tiny TV. Too many tits going on right now.

“He lets you _cook_?”

“He’s even worse than I am.”

“…Wow.”

Jared shovels another handful of chips into his mouth and talks through the mush of it. “He put sugar into m-mashed potatoes, once? ’Cause he saw it on the TV, he said.”

Eve squints, eyes back to the screen, too, hand blindly going for the bag of chips. Mutters, mainly to herself, “How could he get so fucking fat then?”

~

The moment he walks in together with Jeff, Norman glares at Jared lounging on the sofa. Jeff ignores all of that, simply hollers, “Hey kiddo—head home, alright? Big game tonight, we need the living room.”

Norman mouths ‘fuck off’ and Jared flips him the bird and mouths ‘fuck you’ and gets up to gather his shit.

He’s still in the corridor putting on his shoes as he hears, “You open a daycare or what?”

“Shut up.”

Norman doesn’t try to lead Jared to believe that he’s _not_ talking shit about him as soon as he’s turned his back. Super mature. What did Jared ever do to him? If anything, Norman might probably be jealous or something, which would be stupid, since Jeff fucks so many guys and Jared isn’t even one of them.

Norman’s staying overnight, it seems. He’s there on Saturday too. Leaves Sunday night, and Jared slips in through the patio door asap.

Jeff startles as he comes back inside and finds him rummaging through the kitchen. “Jesus, kid.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, one’a these days.” Jeff watches Jared, and glares at him clearing the kitchen counter, taking bottles and raising them against the light, drinking the last sips still in there. “You got any dignity, at all?”

Jared explains, “Nah,” and keeps cleaning after the two guys. “Are there any chips left?”

“Third to your left.”

Jared takes the bag out of the minimized stash and slumps down on the sofa. He notices Jeff watching him, blinks. “What.”

“Nothing.”

After a while, “You okay?”

Jeff looks at him for a moment. “Yeah. Sure.”

Jared crunches through his current mouthful until he can talk again. “Did y’all fight?”

Jeff's eyes narrow. “You been spying on us or something?”

(Nah, it’s kinda embarrassing to watch when you two are drunk outta your minds.) “You're looking kinda down. I dunno.” More chips.

Jeff’s got his arms crossed, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Hesitates before replying, and Jared's interest peaks at that. “It’s just—hard, sometimes. Living so far apart from your best bud, y’know?”

Yeah. Best bud my ass. “You used to live in the same city or something?”

“For a long time, yeah.” Jeff considers Jared. “When you’re used to see someone every day, that’s…difficult. We used to talk, always. About everything. But he hates phone calls, so. That’s that.” Morgan shakes himself out of the unusual thoughtfulness with a lopsided smile. “Why am I even tellin’ you this, huh? Borin’ you with my old-man ramblings.”

“It’s cool. I don’t mind.”

“Mh, sure, there’s nothing you’d rather hear than stories about good ol’ Reedus and Morgan, mischief makers galore. He hates you so much, it’s actually—” Jeff coughs a laugh, rubs at his chin. “I don’t know why you two are so pissed at each other. I mean, it’s kinda cute, all things considered.”

Jared glares, eats more chips.

Morgan smiles. “He doesn’t mean it. Don’t be so hard on him. Showing affection, that’s just never been his strong side.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Aw, don’t gimme that look.”

~

Morgan doesn’t go anywhere for the holidays. Jared brings some of their super fancy roast over; Mom approved. Asshole or not, she says, it’s Christmas, after all.

Morgan is pretty damn drunk and doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping a lot. Doesn’t seem to recognize Jared, at first, and Jared raises the stacked plate to eye level as both an explanation and excuse for his appearance. He’s let in with a grumble.

While Morgan digs in with growing appreciation, Jared clears the worst of the mess in the living room. Hears, “Hey,” eventually, and is beckoned over to the table. Jeff’s sitting back, plate scraped clean and Jeff doesn’t look that much happier after the meal. More tired, if at all.

Jared gets his wrist gripped, his arm pulled forward. Morgan produces a very crumpled (very warm) bill from the descents of his sweatpants and folds it into Jared’s hand.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Y’don’t have to.”

“Well, maybe I want to. Shut up and take it.”

Jared tells him, “Thanks,” and inspects the note upon Jeff releasing him. Fifty fucking bucks. He holds it right back out. “This is too m-m-much, Jeff, seriously…”

“What did I just say?”

“To, uh. S-shut up and t-take it,” and Jared’s smile pulls dimples into his nothing-cheeks, and even the corner of Jeff Morgan’s mouth can’t not sympathize with that.

“Hey, what do you say: wanna watch some crappy TV? I think there’s ice cream left.”

“Sure, yeah.”

Jared pockets the money just in time to manage reciprocating the half-hug Jeff pulls him into, as quick as it comes and goes.

~

Jared hears him before he sees him, but Morgan speeds past him, oblivious. It’s both a thrill and a humiliation when he finds him waiting for him at the next intersection, parked in the curb and squinting at the dogs.

“Jared,” Morgan groans, “what the hell?”

“I’m walking them. For money.”

Jeff considers the scene like he’s looking for the snag of it. The Pomeranian yaps at him from a safe distance.

Jared offers, dumbly, “I didn’t steal ’em.”

~

Mom only ever scowls anymore. “Again, really?” she’d say, and Jared would shrug and head over across the street anyway. Hears, “The poor man,” behind his back, but they’ve got no idea.

Jeff likes him. Doesn’t say it, sure, but Jared feels like he’s capable of telling whether someone wants to be around him or not. And Jeff’s not the kinda guy to _not_ throw anyone out if he’s had enough of them. Hell, Jared knows that.

Jeff’s been seeing this rather petite younger guy couple’a times now. Cute face, Latino. Ángel. Jeff talks extra-sweet for him, coos and croons and laughs a lot, so—he’s probably being extra mean. Since they’re usually upstairs, Jared didn’t have a chance to see much. But the noises paint quite the picture.

Ángel’s been over yesterday and Jeff’s still so fucking elated. Treats Jared for two beers instead of one (“Know you can keep a secret.”) and they order pizza. It’s a good night.

Jeff, just like Jared, prefers pepperoni on pizza. Any meat, really, but his doc advised him to cut down on the cholesterol a bit, so they don’t pig out as hard as they used to. It’s alright; they still do, more than often enough times. Jeff’s not that considerate when it’s about his own health. And he insists Jared could use some meat on all those bones, so.

Jeff’s usually in a good mood, especially after a huge meal and about three beers, and once he’s laid out lazy on his sofa. His laugh rumbles and shakes his belly under his worn-down tee, and it’s comforting. Jared doesn’t feel like that around his parents, or Eve. Jeff’s like a hybrid of a friend and some super cool dad.

Jared prefers horror and slashers but Jeff’s more of a thriller/cop movie kinda guy. Sad music and grim faces, doomed lovers—he likes his schmoop, as Eve would call it; at least on-screen. Jared wouldn’t chaff him about it, ever.

Evenings like this increasingly often end up in impromptu sleepovers. Whenever Jared can’t be bothered to make those few steps up to his own home and Jeff’s too tired to argue with him. It’s just practical. And lazy. And, yeah, kinda cozy. It’s cleaner back home but Jeff’s got no mom around to do his laundry for him, so who’s Jared to judge?

Jeff groans and grumbles as soon as his body touches the bed, sighs and yawns and stirs before he’s ultimately quiet. He’s out quick, always. Jared envies that about him.

The boiler in the bathroom chortles, gently, soothingly. Jared’s got his elbow under his head and watches Morgan sinking deeper and deeper into well-earned sleep. How his features soften and leave him blank, open, calm. The less controlled his breathing, the tighter it gets. It will send him snoring soon enough.

Jeff likes to sleep with the window cracked, but it’s too cold for that now. At home, in his room, Jared’s usually got the heat turned up all the way. He’d rather sweat than freeze. But Jeff’s bed is wide, and Jeff can’t complain about Jared huddling close if he’s not aware of it.

Morgan smells like a bar but he’s beaming with warmth. Snakes seek out warmth with their tongues, right? Jared feels like that. A cold-blooded something, a lizard or so, scuttling underneath a heat lamp. Jeff fucks so many guys, he’d probably not be phased by another sleeping close to him. He hasn’t complained yet.

Jared inches his face closer. Would have his chin hooked over Jeff’s shoulder, if they were standing. Not touching, but the pillow is dipped under him, and he breathes shallow as not to tickle Jeff’s ear. If Jeff would turn his head, they’d be kissing.

Jared pulls the blankets tighter over his shoulder, up to his ear. When Jeff doesn’t wake from Jared brushing his arm with his knuckles, Jared carefully nudges his nose behind Jeff’s ear. Nuzzled into the not-space between Jeff’s skull and the pillow, his unwashed hair, Jared breathes in. It’s warm, here. Cozy, and soft.

He’s thought about asking, but who is he kidding. Jeff doesn’t see him _that_ way. Hell, Jared’s not sure he sees _Jeff_ that way. Everything’s so fucking fluent. Slithers through his fingers like sand, unthreatening, but he still feels like there could be more. _Must_ be more.

Jared’s aware that he’s starting to get hard and wedges his right arm underneath himself, palm coming down where he needs it. Jeff’s not stirring, isn’t even when Jared’s turning his head, lets his nose and lips catch on the shell of his ear. Jared allows his eyes to slip close now, nuzzles back into Jeff’s neck.

If Jeff would wake up now, Jared could use some kinda dream as pretext. He’s positive that Jeff wouldn’t be mad. Would smirk and tell him that it can’t be helped and make an inappropriate comment about teenagers and their urges and, yeah, that’s Jared. So, this isn’t wrong per se.

Jared’s slurring kisses into Jeff’s pulse point when Jeff starting to move announces itself with a mere grunt. Jared’s not fast enough to pull his arm off Jeff’s tits and it gets crushed awkwardly between them, and Jeff’s pulling his arm around Jared.

Jared hears something, a ‘hey’ or similar, it’s hard to hear this close this muffled this asleep and Jeff probably doesn’t know where he is, who’s in his bed at this moment, this is muscle memory and nothing else. But that’s okay, because it feels real, and their noses are smushed together anyway and Jared’s barely pursing his lips and digs his chin forward, and, yeah.

That.

Jeff’s definitely not snoring anymore, now.

No movement for a moment, just silence and the struggle of Jeff’s windpipe and Jared’s cardiovascular system. The drain and pulse of blood and Jared feels as close as he feels stupid. The regret and the shame rush in, leave him immobile, squished against Jeff Morgan and his sprouting scruff.

He can’t think. Probably what makes him miss the first moments of Jeff’s face tipping into his own, that gentle push of nose and mouth and chin and god it’s warm, it’s real freaking warm and he breathes, remembers he’s gotta do that, and makes a sound. Jeff’s bumping their noses together now, and, oh, goddammit.

Jeff’s heavy and breathes soft, deep. Barely purses his lips, so fucking tired Jared can tell he’s still not fully with him, but he lets Jared kiss him, and hold on to his tee, and keeps his arm around him, and. It’s all so quiet and minimal Jared’s zoning out, caught in this dream, this illusion of safety and warmth and intimacy.

He wakes up to Jeff stirring underneath him. Slides off his chest, disoriented, in search for a more stable piece of bed to keep sleeping on. He scrounges his face at the effort it takes him, blinks, offended by both daylight and the disturbance, and. Finds Jeff smiling at him, pushing his hair out of his face with his flat palm.

Everything’s coming back to Jared and he drops his face into the pillow, and Jeff’s chuckling with a rasp like he’s got lung cancer.

Oh, shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

A while passes like that. Waking up, coming online, trying to find words.

Shit, he’s got _nothing_.

Jeff’s hand coming down on the back of his head drives the worst kind of chill down Jared’s spine. He hears, “Hey,” and, “still asleep?”

Jared hides his face deeper in the pillow in the excuse of shaking his head.

Soft, sleep-ridden, “Look at me, huh?”

Jared drags himself up.

Jeff’s smiling with very small eyes and pats the empty wide space making up the right side of his chest.

Jared nuzzles his face in there with what in hindsight feels like a ridiculous amount of haste.

He breathes him in, here. One arm thrown over, too, clutching at Jeff’s sleep-soft tee. Jeff’s chest hair is scratchy just underneath.

The careful-soft strokes along his nape go right to his cock, and Jared blinks blearily. Maybe he’s still dreaming after all.

Jeff murmurs, “You wanna talk about it?”

That idea sounds insane. He can’t even shake his head because that would stir their position. He doesn’t want to wake up just yet.

Jeff speaks again after what could be hours, seconds. Jared can’t think past the fear of Jeff being aware of the crazy rap of his heart.

He says, “I’m not mad at you,” like Jared had even thought that far. (The possibility kicks him in the guts just before making way for instant relief. (He’s not, _not_.)) Jeff’s still stroking Jared’s neck. A chuckle. “Didn’t see it coming, though. I didn’t, uh… Well, you’re not exactly predictable.”

Jared murmurs, “I didn’t mean to.”

Jeff scoffs.

Jared nudges his right eye harder into Jeff’s chest.

The hand keeps petting him. Can’t he just pretend he’s falling back asleep?

“Didn’t ruin anything, bud.”

“I m-made it weird.”

“What, _us_?” Jeff is clearly grinning. Jared curls in some more. “This wasn’t exactly normal from the get-go, don’t you think?”

Jared’s insides are flailing. “Y-yeah. N-no. I. Uh, I mean—”

“Hey, come on, look at me for a second, alright?”

Jared shoves himself up on his elbow so he can look Jeff in the eye. Maybe his face says it all and he can just stop talking. Can just move on to forgetting, and stop feeling so fucking stupid.

Jeff just looks at him. Calm, in that deep, centered way of his. The way he looks when he really means something, and when he wants Jared to be very sure about him meaning it.

Jeff’s hand goes from stroking to cupping Jared’s neck, to brushing up his jaw, his cheek.

Jeff asks him, “Is this what you want?”

Feels like at any given moment, Jared’s heart might jump right out of his mouth. Bleed out, clog his nose. He’s probably not breathing right. “What do _you_ want?”

Jeff gives a weak laugh. “Frankly, I don’t wanna go to jail.”

Rushed, honest, “I won’t tell.”

“Nah. Know you won’t.”

Jared’s leg pulls up some, and Jeff’s gaze is slowing down, seeping deeper into Jared’s eyes. He can feel it.

The fingers rubbing the back of his neck bear down harder.

Jared hates eye contact, and he hates talking. He hates being in the spotlight just as much as being invisible, and all of it hurts and sears him until he can’t do much but run away—and the urge is there, now, impossible to ignore, but: he can hear it. Something in him, screaming at him to fucking get it together, Padalecki, _don’t ruin this for us_.

Jared closes the distance between their faces mouth-first. He hates how clumsy he does it, that their teeth knock together, and it always looks so much easier in the movies. But Jeff purses his lips, _he’s kissing back_ , and that’s all motivation Jared needs to keep with it.

It’s rushed, and horrible. Jared doesn’t know much about the matter but even _he_ can tell. If Jeff wasn’t literally in his face, Jared would be throwing up. His stomach kicks and flails and the spasms in his chest aren’t much better—he feels his hand scrambling, fingers curling un-curling over Jeff’s chest, raking and plucking and stroking. He doesn’t feel much of it, only when he slips up towards Jeff’s neck and meets naked skin, and stops, reverent.

He’s never touched anyone like that.

Jeff’s fingers pinch his nape hard enough to burn, and the sensation is shocking. Beautiful.

A tongue ( _Jeff’s_ ) is darting between his lips, and Jared inhales huge and wet, shudders and parts his teeth and accidentally digs his nails into Jeff’s throat. His tongue rushes out, and he’s never been this ready.

He gets one, two good swirls before Jeff rucks him back by his hair, sudden and sharp and it hurts and it’s so so good and Jared hears, “Slow,” and can’t think much because he’s gotta focus on not starting to cry.

Jeff lets him in again, and Jared tries ‘slow’. Feels stupid, and awkward, _sluggish_ , while Jeff’s tongue feels so fucking good, slithers hard and controlled like a snake to show him how it’s done, lay out a rhythm to work on. Jared has to swallow, but doesn’t. Has Jeff’s nails raking up-down between neck and hairline and remembers that he’s got hands, too, and that one is cupping Jeff’s neck now, thumb sweet-rubbing over one of those thick tendons he’s got here, and, fuck.

This is happening.

It keeps happening for a long, long while.

Jared does swallow eventually, shifts some, nose to nose with Jeff. They’ve both got the worst morning breath, and Jeff’s face is all rough with stubble and on a distant ( _very_ distant) side note Jared might be chafing his chin raw right now, but, hell.

He isn’t aware he’s humping Jeff’s leg until Jeff hefts him atop of him with a firm grip on his leg—his dick loses contact, and Jared’s wide-eyed and mortified for all those horrible seconds it takes Jeff to make him straddle his lap right.

Until Jeff murmurs, “There you go,” and presses his palm from Jared’s knee to the small of his back, down, while he’s still knead-grabbing Jared’s nape like some lion cub’s. Gets him back in a rocking motion, and Jared flushes like fire but _does_ grind his cock into the softness of Jeff’s stomach. Feels it gut-turningly vivid how Jeff’s on half-mast right under his ass, how he’s working them _both_ like that. That that shit is possible. That he’s doing that. _With_ _someone_.

Jeff’s got his eyes closed through it, so Jared keeps his own open, and stares. Half cross-eyed and he’s got both hands on Jeff’s throat now, just gently cupping it, slippery with he doesn’t even know whose sweat. Digs his knees into the mattress some more in search for the best leverage and feels the seam of his boxers rasping across his glans and Jeff’s treasure trail.

They’re still kissing. Jared’s eyes might be slipping close without his say-so.

Jeff scoots them up the bed after a while, Jared half-registers that, feels himself huffing and swallowing too much spit and petting through Jeff’s hair. His elbows dig into the pillows and their stomachs aren’t touching anymore; he’s bowed over Jeff, crotches and faces grinding together and there are hands running up-down his sides, close to tickling and rucking his shirt up in their wake, making him aware of how sweaty he already is.

Someone asks, “Close?” and Jared blind-licks after the sound, grunts, “Uh-huh,” and there’s barely any space left to breathe, which he doesn’t need to, at all, just this, this, just a little more.

“Sit up.” A hand pushes up against his chest; two. Jeff turns his mouth away. “C’mon, _up_.”

Jared takes a first real breath since forever and goes light-headed sitting up this fast. Hands spread on Jeff’s belly and fully sitting back on the rock-hard line of his cock, Jared stares down at him, awaiting an explanation, something, anything.

Jeff’s looking at him like he’s about to strangle him. “Strip.”

Jared wrestles his stuck-to-skin tee over his head, tosses it across the room.

“Everything.”

Jared does a double-take before he lifts off Jeff, climbs off the bed. Pushes his boxers down his hips, his legs, shakes them off his toes. Stands, stupid, heaving, naked, eyes on Jeff. On the dust swirling around the bed in the slits of morning light the cheap blinds fail to keep out, falling like snow, and one of Jeff’s eyes seems translucent how it’s being shined at, blind, and he’s taking Jared _in_ , head to toe.

Jared’s aware he’s so skinny his hanging arms only touch his body in his armpits, part of the ribs. He can feel how wet those are, smells the heavy musk of the room, both of their sweat. Smells his own dick, feels the air hitting the smeared tip of it—the still-there throb of it unending, pulling his nuts tight like the worst itch.

The moment he begins to lift his hand to paw at it, Jeff tells him, “No,” and beckons him closer, “Lemme see you.”

Jared re-climbs Jeff’s lap under the guidance of Jeff’s hands, Jeff’s gaze. Spreads his knees wider to Jeff’s liking; they open him, barely a touch but Jeff’s hands are so warm, and Jared’s got that dick bumping up against his balls, doesn’t want to grind his bare ass on it fearing he might stain Jeff’s underwear. Moves slow once Jeff doesn’t stop him, zeroed in on his face, the unmistakable demand of his eyes.

Hands braced on top of Jeff’s hairy thighs, and this is what Jeff wants, right? But Jared’s dick isn’t getting any friction, none at all, even though this feels great, but.

Jeff’s hands come to a rest just over Jared’s protruding hips. Thumbs curled a little lower, into the tender insides of his thighs, light like a dream—framing the wild curls of Jared’s pubes, his heavily bobbing cock.

Jared keeps rocking. Hopefully. Desperately.

Just touch it. Just _once_.

Jeff’s mouth curls into a smile then, and for a frightening moment, the possibility of Jeff Morgan being able to read his goddamn mind seems hella real.

Jared feels one of those hands lifting, shifting, and, god.

But it slides too low. Passes his cock, fumbles to curl around his sack. Rubs two fingers along his taint and cradles his balls, too-warm and too-gentle but Jared’s cock seizes nevertheless.

Jared huffs, irritated, and almost-slips from Jeff’s thigh. Shifts his legs, his hips, and Morgan’s re-palming his pelvis in a reminder for him to keep grinding his ass down. Jared humps his balls into that palm, feels those nails scratching from his taint to his asshole and back, catching on the pubes there, and, fuck.

This isn’t gonna do it.

“You can do it, bud.”

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

“Just let it go. C’mon,” and, “that dick’s not yours anymore.”

Jared jerks navel-down, and his hips stutter, and his heart skips funny.

His eyes fall to where his dick drips a fat line of precome over the seam of Jeff’s ridden-up tee, and back up to Jeff, who’s smirking like a wolf.

He hears, “Earn it,” and part of him (the bigger, insatiable, usually impatient part) accepts.

It doesn’t do him much good at first. His orgasm recedes and flips him the bird and reminds him how fucking ridiculous he must be looking right now, buck-naked and sweating like a pig and with his hair sticking everywhere, face rubbed red and raw and dick as hard as a log, swinging in the air, grinding his skinny ass in unskilled, aborted thrusts, trying to shift his weight so he feels more of Morgan’s palm.

He screws his eyes shut, tries to focus. On what is happening. What he is made to do, right now. That they’ve been making out only moments ago, and that Jeff isn’t throwing him out, that he’s _keeping_ him, that he’s _challenging_ him. Morgan thinks you can do this. He thinks you can blow just from getting your balls played with. Shit, you’ve done that before.

The palm cupping his balls curls a little tighter. Close to tugs, now, held so still while Jared’s moving his hips. Jeff’s fingers curl up, too, nails digging into the folds of Jared’s asshole and the hard nub of his taint, and Jared lets out a thin breath, feels his lashes fluttering.

He keeps moving. Swallows, and feels his throat clicking with it.

Hears, “That’s it,” a low rumble and yeah, god, almost, just, a little more, or, give him more, anything…

Jeff’s hand snaps to a tight clasp and pulls down, forward, away from Jared’s body, and Jared gasps and half-follows until Jeff’s other hand on his hips stills him, and he chokes, and it hurts, and suddenly he’s so fucking close, only another second, only—

His cock begins to jump and Jared groans with his throat too-dry, with Jeff’s still mangling his balls and he can’t move, feels exactly how pump after pump shoots up his cock and then out of it, helpless—Jeff slaps his hand away and tells him, “No,” again, and Jared whines because it _hurts_.

The ground is quaking and shifting and then Jeff’s on his mouth, licks into him so sudden and hard that Jared misses some of it, still coming (or something similar, because it feels so fucking weird not milking it all out), and Jeff topples them over, Jared on his back and Morgan on top of him and his hand crushed between their chests because Morgan’s still got his wrist caught.

Every one of Jared’s bones groans under Morgan’s weight and his cock is still twitching, uselessly, and he whines and flails out a, “Fuck,” that sounds so fucking off, alien, and gets one arm around Jeff and holds onto his back while Jeff ruts against his ass with Jared’s knees somewhere around his ears, and Jared doesn’t even really feel Jeff’s mouth sliding from mouth to jaw to throat until Jeff sinks his teeth in.

Jared yelps, off-guard, and kicks out, but there’s nothing for his foot to connect to, and Jeff’s palm leaves his balls behind now and Jared only feels knuckles beating him but that’s nothing against the agony on his neck and he’s snarling, now, grinding his teeth and _fuck_ , his dick is still throbbing, feels like he didn’t come at all.

Jeff releases his neck shortly after his hand stilled, too, and Jared feels relief, the burn of tears, sticky warmth turning cool so quick in the folds of his stomach and all over his junk, and. Oh.

_Oh_.

They catch their breath like that: Jeff tucked into the crook of his neck, Jared clinging to him still with that one arm, his other hand fisted into Jeff’s hair. Jared’s legs fall outwards eventually, and Jeff sags a little more, gets his hand out between them. Jared hears the distinct wipe of palm on sheets and blinks against the ceiling, breathing with his mouth open.

Holy shit.

Holy _shit_.

“Did you come?”

Jeff’s laugh is mostly made of hot air and the rumble up against Jared’s sternum, his palm.

Holy shit.

Jared stays pliant, buried as he is. Observes the many things going on inside of him—the different levels of pain, and excitement, and the liquids and the scratching and the heat. The heavy, suffocating stink of Jeff, worse than ever now that he’s drenched and right under Jared’s nose.

Jeff pleasure-sighs after a while. But doesn’t move.

Jared carefully rakes through the guy’s sticky hair.

“Dibs on the shower.” Still no movement. “How ’bout you get breakfast started, huh?”

Jared nods. Adds, once he realizes Jeff can’t see it, “Yeah.”

Jeff tells him that he feels like pancakes before lifting off of him.

Jared hears the shower coming on from downstairs and cracks another egg into the bowl. Whisks, and pours, and supports his weight with one hand on the edge of the stove. Spatula in his free hand, waiting, tired.

He’s not aware of any of the small things—like the intense sunshine of a perfect Sunday morning, the sizzling of melting butter in the pan, the sweet scent of the dough, the ache in his neck, or his balls, or his legs. It’s a weird feeling. Like getting out of trouble. Like weighing nothing at all, thinking about nothing at all. It’s one huge ball of ‘nice’.

You might actually be _happy_ , idiot.

He startles and almost puts his dick on the stovetop when Jeff curls around him from behind, would blurt, “Shit,” but his throat goes too tight for that; one arm around his stomach and the other tips his hips back, away from the stove, and Jeff’s kissing up the crook of his neck.

Jared keeps his eyes on the picture-book perfect golden dough and lolls his head just so, barely a movement but Jeff rewards it by nosing over the bruise he left, kissing it, preschool-proper.

Jared’s dick stirs to life painfully quick.

Jeff reminds him all-too soft, “Don’t burn ’em.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jared’s so obsessed with staring at it that Megan eventually has given up and emigrated to the downstairs bathroom. He’s got one of her compact mirrors in hand, stands with his back to the tall mirror. He trails his fingers over it (over, and over, and over). It’s fucking _swollen_. Still hot.

Hair tied up to see it better, he feels weirdly bare. Dwells in the goosebumps, dick wet in his hand. He comes so often he actually can’t walk down the stairs right.

Jared has no clue at all what to do with either himself or the tornado in his head.

He’s _dying_ to tell Eve. God, he wants to, but she might get upset. Older men, that’s not her thing at all. Also, Jared promised not to tell, huh? Which, in hindsight, seems superfluous. (Maybe Morgan used to live in another state before he moved here, somewhere you can’t fuck anyone under eighteen.)

Megan glares at him across the dinner table, but nobody seems to notice any difference in him. Which both relieves and crushes Jared. But, well. Mom’s probably better off not knowing it.

Alan’s playing cards with Jeff in the living room. Jared joins them upon invitation (and brings a new round of beers for them) and Jeff doesn’t treat him different either. Not nicer, or less nice. Just like he’s always been. They’re playing Ninety-nine; the guys talk about work and football and Jared tries to keep his boner in line with sheer willpower. He doesn’t know how to do any of this. How to deal with sitting at the same table as the person who’s openly willing to touch your dick while they’re actually _not_ touching it. If he’s supposed to bring it up, if Alan knows what’s been going on. Jared has no clue how much Jeff and him talk about this stuff. If Jeff talks about Jared at all, period.

Eventually, the initial excitement wears off and leaves Jared tired. Alan is staying and staying. Jared loses hope around ten and slips into the corridor to toe his sneakers on.

Jeff trails after him, into the general direction of the bathroom. Tells him, “Hey,” and, once he’s got Jared looking at him, “maybe tomorrow, huh?”

Jared nod and heads home. Jerks off, again, for good measure, and stares up against the ceiling when it’s over.

Upon checking, Alan’s car is still in Morgan’s driveway.

Jared cracks his window open to make a first guess if they’re upstairs or downstairs, but he can’t hear anything. It’s the sneaky way through the foliage just to end up with an unlit living room. Okay. So. What now?

Jared stands with his back pressed against the house. He’s trying to focus, closes his eyes and takes a flat breath over the obvious sounds spilling from the bedroom window.

Alan leaves at around one. Jared watches the taillights of his car fading into the night from his room.

~

“You can ask for it, y’know.”

Jared keeps his foot steady on the gas. Both hands on her wheel, and god he has to look up _front_.

Morgan is an ass.

Laughs, meanly, when Jared doesn’t reply. Puts a hand on Jared’s right knee, and pulls it outwards just a bit.

Jared mutters, “I’m drivin’,” and oh shit this is happening, isn’t it, and Jeff tells him, “Take the next exit.”

Jared’s jeans are straining by the time he pulls the truck to a halt in the farthest parking spot of this gas station Jeff’s navigated him to. Jeff’s hand is still only cupping his goddamn knee.

Jeff reminds him, “Handbrake,” and Jared rushes to do that, says, “Sorry,” and his leg tilts out to the side as far as it will go (Jeff’s not using much force at all).

Jeff’s trailing his hand up Jared’s thigh until Jared can hitch his crotch up against his knuckles.

His eyes slip closed.

“What do you want? Tell me.”

Jared just presses his heels down harder to grind into Jeff’s touch.

He hears Jeff chuckling. “Wanna take that out for me?”

He rips his belt and fly open immediately; shoves his jeans down mid-thigh. Jeff’s grabbing the inside of his thigh again and holds his legs as open as the restraint of his pants will let them be.

Jared can’t look at him, looks at his own knees instead, out the windshield to the far-away street. They’re parked facing away from the gas station. Corn. Sad, mowed-down corn.

Jeff rubs at his thigh. Tucks his pinkie under his balls, first, before feeling them up, and Jared shifts his hips out further, scoots down the seat.

Sighs, quietly, “Shit,” and lets his head loll.

Jeff’s dragging his palm along the underside of his cock (Jared’s holding his breath through it). Smothers the head and returns to rolling his balls.

“You like that,” hums Jeff. “When I play with ’em.”

Jared nods enthusiastically.

“You ever do it yourself?”

More nodding. “Uh-huh.”

“Mh, I bet. What about here.” Jeff’s fingers shift to rub down Jared’s taint.

Jared nods again. Shifts deeper into the touch, almost-sighs.

Jeff rubs all the way back to his asshole. “Here?”

Jared shakes his head.

“Don’t like it?”

“Dunno,” he says, honestly.

“Tried it?”

“Uh, kinda.” Jared blinks down between his legs. “In the shower, but. Awhile ago, so.”

“Okay if I play around here?”

“Yeah.” Jared’s eyes close again as Jeff rubs him out. He thinks of what he saw, before. Of the kinda shit Jeff is up to. His guys seem to like it, so.

Jeff’s fingers disappear and all warning Jared gets is the sound of Jeff spitting before they’re back, slimy. Gasps, because it’s definitely better wet than dry, and tilts his face so Jeff can nuzzle it. Cranes his neck so they can kiss.

Jeff’s sucking on his tongue before he bites his lip, and pulls it away from his teeth.

Jared feels his cock twitching.

Jeff eats his mouth some more before he pulls back to ask, “Anyone’s ever sucked that pretty dick before?”

Jared feels his eyes going wet as he shakes his head. Feels the rush exploding in his chest, pumping up into his neck, the bruise, his ears, cheeks. Gets a hold of Jeff’s tee, and Jeff asks, “Want me to?”

“Oh god.”

“I take that as a yes.”

“Oh god. Oh, _god_.”

Jeff’s face is sinking down Jared’s body, and Jared can barely hold from blowing right then and there, with Jeff’s mouth swallowing him down before clamping, lips-first, and he’s most definitely coming a little when Jeff hollows his cheeks and _sucks_.

All that keeps him from unloading is the burning distraction of Jeff’s fingers pressing past the clench of his asshole. He blabbers, “Fuck, fuck,” unsure where to put his hands; he doesn’t want to push Morgan too far but also _does_ want to wrench him down on his dick. He finds support on the door handle and Jeff’s back, and feels like imploding with Jeff nursing nothing but the tip, a fluttery-tight suction like he’s drinking from a straw, and, holy shit.

“’M gonna come.” Desperate, then a hiss when those fingers shove deeper, but he can’t relax nor tighten his ass at all. Jeff rolls his tongue over his slit, and again, and again. “’M gonna, shit, oh—J-Jeff, j-jus’—”

If it wasn’t for Jeff’s left arm holding him down, Jared would be coming off the seat entirely. As it is, thrashes his hips as far as he can (not far) to try and get deeper into that mouth, can tell how his ass is spasming around those fingers, and, holy shit, holy shit.

He hears Jeff swallowing. Once, twice.

“Fuck.” (God, he feels like crying.)

Jeff chuckles and pats Jared’s shaky thigh. Jared makes a face at the sensation of the slowly withdrawing fingers, rakes his now sticky hair out of his eyes and tries very hard not to be mad at Jeff for wiping his finger on the bottom of the seat.

“Wait, uh. Was. Did you.”

Jeff clarifies, “That was _one_ ,” and wriggles his fingers.

“No fucking way.”

“I’m a big guy. Get used to it.” Jeff hasn’t stopped smirking since he pulled off of Jared’s dick. Adjust himself in his jeans and leans back, puts the seatbelt back on. “Get us home. You owe me two, now.”

“I can…”

“Nah. Not out here. It can wait another half an hour.”

So, Jared gets them back safely. Hard to say if it’s easier or harder to drive after he got off, but Jeff’s not intervening, so he must be doing alright.

After taking off his sneakers, Jared doesn’t know how to continue. Where to go, what to do. Looks for answers in Jeff, but the guy’s only just shrugging out of his jacket.

Eventually, he receives mercy. “Living room,” points Jeff, so Jared goes there. Sits on the edge of the couch and waits.

Jeff joins him all calm and collected despite the returning bulge in the front of his jeans. Jared looks at it, up at Jeff.

“What do you want me to…”

“First of all, relax. And shut your mouth.”

Jared sits back (not any less tense) and is grateful to not be supposed to be talking.

Jeff is just standing there, looking down at him. Palms himself over his jeans, and Jared’s eyes can’t help but flicker down there for a second. Back to Jeff’s face, the man is smirking again.

“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you.”

Jared half-blinks before he decides to nod. (Jeff can’t possibly know. Must be referring to the times they shared the bathroom or changed in the same room.)

“Yeah, you did. Been thinking about it, too?”

Jared murmurs, “Sometimes.”

“So you do like dick, huh?”

Jared shrugs. Apparently, he does.

“Should’ve said something sooner.”

“Didn’t seem to matter.”

“Hell yeah it matters, you idiot. That’s the kind of details I’d like to know about the people I let into my home.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t fucking apologize.” Jeff frowns, and pouts. Is still pawing at his fly. “We could’ve been fucking half a year ago. Half a year! That’s a fucking long time.”

Jared shifts his legs out some, feels his dick stirring alive. Hopes Jeff notices. Which he does, of course. Jared can tell by the disappearance of the pissed-off expression.

“Anyway. Two rules. Rule number one: you say stop, I stop. No exception. If there’s anything wrong, or even only _not good_ , you tell me to stop. Understood?”

Jared nods quickly.

“Number two: if you don’t tell me to use a rubber, I won’t use one. Clear?”

Jared nods. “Isn’t that…”

“Are we _clear_ , kid?”

More nodding.

“Good.” Those fingers finally start to work those jeans open. “Get over here. Knees.”

Jared knocks his knee on the coffee table he’s so hasty. Wipes his damp palms on his thighs, sits back on his haunches, and looks up—Jeff’s face, Jeff’s crotch. Jeff steps closer, crowds him in.

“It’s called a blowjob ’cause there’s no hands involved. So I don’t wanna see those.”

Jared licks his lip and blinks at the fat prick getting pulled out right in front of his face. He can smell it. “I, uh, I’ve, never…”

“We all gotta start somewhere.” Jeff strokes himself. Releases his cock eventually, and it swings heavy. “I’m not in the mood for that kiddie shit so open your mouth. Wider. I said wider, Jared.”

He tries to remember how the girls do it in porn but for the love of god can’t get one single clear image. Jeff puts a hand in his hair and pulls him forward onto his dick.

It’s surreally hot, and salty. Thick and hard and soft all at once and Jared tries to comply upon, “Cover your teeth,” wraps his lips over them and splutters, tries to pull back, but Jeff’s reeling him in, and in, and in.

It lodges up against the back of his throat, and his stomach convulses.

Jeff tells him, “Deep breath,” and Jared faintly notices there’s two hands gripping his hair now, and then he’s pushed into impossibly farther.

He gags again, and can’t stop.

He hauls in a huge gulp of air once Jeff pulls out; half-falls backwards on his ass. Is held at the back of his head though, tries to stop coughing and choking with Jeff’s dick impatiently dipping at his cheek, his lip. Hasn’t recovered yet but Jeff’s going back in, and Jared lets him, teeth covered and all.

“There we go.”

Jeff’s humping his mouth in controlled, short thrusts, and Jared tries hollowing his cheeks but there’s not much space to work with.

Jared’s head is buzzing. “See, if we’d been doing this for awhile, you’d already be taking that like a champ.”

Deep, again, and deeper.

Jared can’t even cough his throat’s so jammed.

Shit. He’s gonna throw up.

Hears Jeff, distantly, “Try not to get it on my socks,” and his stomach contents rush out right after Jeff’s cock.

“Jesus,” grunts Jeff, and he laughs after. “You good?”

Jared wipes his chin with the back of his hand and straightens himself, mouth already dropping open, and Jeff gladly fills him back up.

He’s so hard he can feel the pulse of it in the inside of his thighs. Tries to press his tongue down way back to where there’s more space available somehow, tries to relax, let Morgan in. Gladly lets Jeff see-saw him back and forth, feels tears streaming down his cheeks that have nothing to do with any emotion, just pure, natural instinct. The stench of his vomit is revolting but he can ignore that.

He keeps gagging, but there’s nothing left to come up anymore. “Takes some practice,” grunts Jeff, “no way around it.” And, confident, “We’ll get you there.”

Only under heavy pressure does Jared’s esophagus give way for the last couple of inches, and it just _hurts_. Like Jeff’s dislodging his Adam’s apple from the inside.

Jeff keeps him pressed nose to pubes and groans like it pains him, too.

Jared’s lungs are flailing for their sorry life. Jared doesn’t even _want_ to breathe.

“Y’wanna try swallowing it? Tap my leg for no.”

Jared doesn’t move. The hairs on his arms rush straight for that adoring chuckle. For the way Jeff’s nails scratch under his hair to re-grip him, fasten him good.

“Okay then.”

Jeff plunges down his throat all the way another few times, tip to root and Jared’s body hasn’t stopped convulsing. He’s light-headed and a mess and when Jeff wrenches him up against his pubic bone again he can really tell how much he’s shaking, how his muscles try to evade the discomfort. But Jeff’s coming, right now, incredibly hard and twitching and Jared can’t even swallow; it rushes straight down his gullet and he can’t breathe.

First thing Jared does upon being released is puke up Jeff’s spunk. He doesn’t have much say in it. Splutters, and it gets into his nose, and it burns like shit, and he coughs up some more, struggling to somehow find a compromise between breathing and vomiting. He holds the back of his hand in front of his mouth when the worst is done with, and belches. Snuffles, and wipes down his cheeks, nose, chin.

Jeff pats him on the side of his head after putting his dick away. “You need anything, coffee, water? I’m down for some coffee, actually.”

Jared shakes his head and snuffles again, clears his sinuses with his eyes squeezed shut and swallows what his throat comes up with.

Jeff hollers from over in the kitchen, “I think there’s some Borax left under the bathroom sink.”

~

It’s like his world has been reassembled from the ground up. He swears the air tastes different—hell, he now has something _to look forward to_.

Jeff is making a game out of it. Doesn’t tell him much about what’s gonna happen, what he’s gonna do. It’s crazy hot, swoops Jared’s stomach permanently. He can’t eat much but that’s alright. Not that it’d stay down anyway.

Jeff still brings others over. No big deal. It cuts into the time he’s got available for Jared but Jared can be patient. It’s just part of the game, really—the waiting. Jeff, pretending Jared doesn’t mean anything, isn’t entitled to anything, and hell, he isn’t.

Stepping his foot into Morgan’s house can mean anything from a blowjob to a bounce.

Jared’s usually hard by the time Jeff walks through the door. Jeff usually ignores him entirely for the first ten minutes or so. There’s things that don’t change.

“You ever say no?”

Jeff Morgan has him hooked on two fingers going for three. Jared’s naked but for the socks on his icy toes and the first time Jeff slaps him in the face, it feels weird.

Empty, and then bad, until Jeff grabs him by the chin and makes him look him in the eye. Slaps him again, halfway through Jared’s grunt because hell fuck three’s a lot of stretch and his eyes snap closed. Another backhand, barely a love-tap but so loud, stirring, and the anxiety fades, and Jeff presses him down on the bed throat-first.

“How rough’s too rough, huh? I gotta know, kid.”

Jared’s eyes fly open upon Jeff’s fist clutching down on his throat and he gasps, both hands going for Jeff’s arm and holy shit this is awesome and this is Jeff merely _testing the waters_ right now. Jared’s trying to cough even before Jeff lets his ass be to slap him with that hand instead. Two fingers wrench themselves past Jared’s teeth.

Jeff’s still in full clothes and straddles Jared’s stomach, and the drag of denim and the weight of him, all of it, it’s…

Jared’s hands pull Jeff’s grip down even harder, and Jeff smirks. Jared would as well if he could.

“Such a dirty boy,” and Jared would nod if he could. Would scream _yes_ and _do you like that?_ And let Jeff shove his dick up his ass, his entire hand, he wouldn’t fucking mind. God, whatever, just give it to him.

Everything is new, and exciting, and if it hurts it just stays with him longer.

~

Jeff has an affinity for biting, and Eve’s mouth drops open sweet. To be honest, Jared will never truly be over her mouth.

She doesn’t even say anything, just rushes closer immediately and holds his hair back. A gasp; Jeff’s been more focused on the back of his neck.

She lets him go, and he’s smiling. “And?”

“And what?”

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“No?” Eve punches his shoulder, hard. “No, Jared, it’s not ‘cool’! Did he try to eat you or something?”

“How do you kn-kn-know it’s a he?”

Her expression is too upset to really roll those eyes all the way like they want to. “Did you _tell_ him to do this? Are you _insane_? And, also—what the fuck?”

He tells her, “It’s fine,” but she insists, “It’s _not_.”

They hold eye contact for a moment, and he can hear her talking in her head, and he knows what she knows he is thinking, too.

“He’s not like your—”

“Don’t.”

He looks down, away.

After a while, “What else did he do to you?” He scoffs and she insists, “Jared,” and, “this is serious,” but it isn’t, and he doesn’t know how to get that across to his friend.

Jared lies, “Nothin’.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“He’s not forcing a-a-anything. I started it.”

She squints at him.

“Honest.”

“It’s still fucked up.” She reaches out to shake Jared by his shoulder but ends up just nudging him, holding onto him. “ _You’re_ fucked up. God, I knew it’d happen, but.”

“You did?”

“Shut up before I kill you,” and he does that, because Eve Adams carries a butterfly knife in her boot with the same determination she uses to carry unfiltered fury in her heart.

~

Morgan takes his hand off Jared’s dick to turn the radio up for the Stones.

They’ve been driving for about an hour until Jeff tells him to pull over, and there’s nothing here, nobody.

Jared doesn’t know where to put his hands, only knows where _not_ to put them because Morgan’s shooing them away here and there, and he ends up gripping the steering wheel again, Jeff’s mouth slurping at him all wet. He’s been ready to come fifty minutes ago already.

Jeff claps his thigh and tells him to get out of the car, and Jared’s smarter than to object.

It’s fucking freezing and he shivers, legs unsure, too long and too thin and Jeff rounds the Nissan and folds him halfway back inside, rucks his tee up and his jeans down and Jared’s scrambling to help, snuffles, gets his mouth licked again, his cheek pressed into the still-warm seat.

“Get your foot up there. Yeah.” Jared sways with the force of Jeff’s boot on the jeans that are still restricting his movements, caught around shin and ankle until Jeff gets the latter free. Jared’s nose is running but he’s not cold, not anywhere.

Jeff spits into his hand and Jared grips the seat a little harder.

He’s got his leg hiked up and Jeff’s gotta put his free hand on his lower back to curl him back out, offer himself up. This shit’s easier once he’s already come once or twice. This on edge, needy, the scratch of Jeff’s callouses just makes him tense. Jeff’s knuckles press up against his taint and he groans, shifts his hips, his arms. Jeff leans in to kiss him on the mouth. He keeps petting Jared’s back.

Jared’s dick hangs heavy, without friction. Jeff curls his fingers and Jared huffs in pain.

“Hm, wait.”

The fingers pull back and Jared winces with the drag. Blinks back over his shoulder where Jeff’s fumbling with a bunch of travel sized lube packs, rips one open and slathers his fingers. He’s not done stuffing the rest of the packs back into his jeans as he’s pumping his fingers back into Jared’s ass. Jared groans.

Yeah. Definitely better.

Jeff lowers himself onto Jared’s back like they’re both weighing nothing. Like he’s not crushing and too warm and fucking at Jared’s sweet spot like he’s attempting to rub that load right out. Which, shit, he might be doing. Oh, shit.

Jeff’s switching between kissing and snarling, talks mostly shit and how Jared will let him do anything, wouldn’t he. “Would let me dick you right here and now”, and Jared chokes, “Yeah,” but Morgan doesn’t do it.

Jared doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong. Maybe he should be even more straightforward with it.

Jeff’s about twice his age, or something. Jared considers his own looks above his age, but, still.

“It’s legal, y’know.”

Jeff pulls the door closed behind himself and gives Jared a frown.

Jared shrugs. “Like, we can fuck. I’m seventeen. It don’t matter.”

Jeff Morgan curls his mouth to a smirk, stretches his jaw.

“What.”

“Nothin’. Just,” a wave towards the nothing in front of them, “get us the fuck home, would ya. I’m freezing my balls off here.”

~

Mom honest to god drops her cup of coffee.

Jared startles just like the rest of the family.

Megan’s eyes go wide and wider and Jared can’t even open his mouth to say something before Mom’s already in front of him, tilting his chin up, brushing his hair aside.

Jesus, fuck. How long hasn’t he been home?

“I, uh.” His stomach drops. “I can, uh. Explain.”

She whispers, “Jesus Christ,” and Jared feels color creeping into his face.

“Mom, stop.”

He sees Dad turning back to the TV, hears him muttering, “It’s about time.”

“Did she try to _eat_ you? Jesus, baby.” Mom whispers that and reaches out to touch one of the bites, but ends up pulling her hand back before she does. He’s completely unable to say anything, just gawps back at her and she’s drawing her brows together eventually, strictness and common mom-sense taking back over. “Please tell me you two used protection.”

~

Jeff has the careless habit of leaving the kitchen window cracked. Jared doesn’t point it out.

If he handles the frame as gently as humanly possible, it slides open completely silent. Like a ‘thank you, there you go’.

They’ve been working on Jared’s stamina but Morgan’s level still remains obscure. Only from the outside does the appeal make any sense—always working up to the edge, stepping back, cooling down, and starting all over. Morgan’s prolonging it until all limits have been reached. The poor fucker he’s got underneath him at that point is usually not much awake, let alone aware. When they tap out, Morgan turns to their other end.

Today’s doesn’t have a name, and Jeff is quiet, lost in it. He talks nasty with some but sometimes he can’t be bothered. Huffed, “C’mon,” a few times now, “Just one more,” two times that Jared heard it.

The TV’s running, long-forgotten. Chinese take-out; an empty bottle of lube. Three condom wrappers.

Jared blinks away sweat as he empties his balls up against the inside of his tee, shoulder killing him pressed up against the wall as it is, and he savors those little things—Jeff’s entire body shivering, stuttering. That intimate rush of air, like a sob. The guy under him isn’t stirring at all.

For a silly moment or two, Jared has this out of body experience. Sees himself, pressed up tall into the corner of Morgan’s kitchen as Jeff hefts himself towards the fridge. And, hell. Morgan actually doesn’t notice him at first.

Not until he turns around to walk back, beer in hand.

“JESUS CHRIST—” Jeff cuts himself off, manages to re-grab the beer he’s almost lost his touch on.

Jared’s feet try to scramble him further into the wall.

Jeff’s throwing panicked glances between the (still completely quiet but for the TV) living room and Jared, steadies himself on the kitchen aisle. His voice is shrill in his efforts to whisper what’s obviously supposed to be screaming.

“What are—what in the—you fucking little cocksucker! What the _fuck_!”

“I, I wasn’t, I—”

“How long have—oh hell no. Oh, _hell no_.”

Jeff puts his beer down to bury his face in both of his hands and muffles a very, very violent noise.

He must have seen Jared’s eyes flicking to the window because he snarls, “Don’t even think about it,” and Jared, honest to God, he doesn’t even know if he could. Feels his back coming off the wall he’s breathing so hard, panicked to the point of nausea. He can’t even apologize.

Jeff’s face returns from his palms, all stone and unreadable. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll get him home, and I swear to God, if you’re not sitting on that couch when I come back…”

Jared nods so hard he pulls a muscle in his neck.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Jeff exits the kitchen and Jared sinks to the floor and hugs his knees and considers how deep in he is right here. The calculations aren’t in his favor.

Jeff shoos the guy out soon enough, but he keeps to his word and gives him a lift (in the guy’s own car, but, hey). It leaves Jared with himself. If Jeff knows how this might very well be the worst part of whatever punishment that’s coming up, Jared cannot fathom.

Obviously, it was destined to happen, sooner or later. It just had been working for so long that the possibility became less and less probable.

Jared startles at the noise of keys in the front door. Oh, yeah, right, Jeff must have taken a cab or something to get back. He scoots further back onto the couch, legs pulled up like they’d protect him. Jeff’s glare is on him immediately. It barely softens upon finding Jared where he was supposed to be.

Puppy eyes don’t work on Morgan, but old habits die hard.

Jeff snuffles his nose as he shrugs out of his jacket, tosses it over a nearby chair.

“How long have you been doing it?”

Jared’s stomach withers some more.

“Speak.”

“A while.”

“A while what.”

“Couple’a…months?” He throws along a, “Sorry,” at Jeff’s unbelieving scoff.

“That was not okay.”

“I kn-n-now. I’m sorry.”

“Y’know, I don’t fucking mind, but _them_ —what if one’a them would’ve seen you? Hell, if we wouldn’t know each other I’d beat the shit outta you right now. Rightfully!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking saying that with your dick still wet. If you woulda been sorry, you wouldn’t have kept this shit up, period.”

Jared doesn’t say his ‘sorry’.

Jeff crosses his arms in front of his chest. Calmer, now, but not any less strict, “So you knew. Forever, basically.”

Jared nods, eyes on him.

Jeff’s eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What s-s-should I have said?”

“I dunno, you tell me.”

“It didn’t make a duh-d-d-difference, for me. I dunno.”

“Didn’t your parents warn you of freaks like me?”

Jared considers the question. He decides, “You n-never tried a-a-anything, so. You w-weren’t, like, creepy.” He shrugs. “You w-w-were just n-nice.”

Jeff keeps staring at him like he’s expecting something else. But that’s all Jared’s got, and he folds his legs down to sit Indian style. He blinks up at Jeff, for a direction where to go, what to say next.

When nothing comes, “So. You’re throwing m-me out now, or…?”

Jeff sighs, painedly. Shifts his weight back and forth from one leg to the other, and cocks his head. “Y’know,” he says, like he’s tired, “if I had it in me anymore, I’d spank your stupid ass till you’re cross-eyed. Shit.”

Not the worst idea Jared’s heard today.

He might look like it too because Jeff’s face brightens up and he smirks, groans.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, you’re killing me.” And, whilst bending over to unlace his boots, “Pants off, now.”

Jeff might be tired but his arm sure as hell isn’t.

By the time Jeff decides to take it upstairs, Jared’s not yet as cross-eyed as he was promised. But Jeff’s dick is stirring awake from the dead, and _he_ did that.

On all fours on the edge of the bed, Jared still hisses more for the scarlet burn of his skin than the width of the toy Jeff’s popping into his ass. Murmurs, “Fuck,” and rocks back into the soothe of those hands, warm-dry palms brushing where they had hit earlier. Jeff rakes his nails over it once and Jared feels a whole lot like breaking into tears.

He kinda loses time once the vibrations start up.

The toy’s not big. Jeff push-pulls it back and forth, gets a finger in to chase after it, place it where he wants it. It’s not enough, not by far. But, hell. Once Jeff picks up hitting his ass where he left off, it might as well be.

Jared’s so lost in both fleeing from and bucking into the assault he barely notices the vibe disappearing. He sure as fuck notices the dildo wedging into him though.

His first thought is that it’s real big and his second thought is that it’s _real big_ , and Jeff works it in to the hilt in one-two smooth strokes and that’s probably not good, it should hurt more, or should it, but it’s just cold with lube and massive—clenching around it makes his cock drip a fat line of slick into the already messy sheets. Jared might be gasping.

Jeff keeps the toy lodged deep with the one, pinches his ass with the other hand, and Jared tries to inch his ass just a little higher, face buried in the sheets and whimpering, hell, he doesn’t even know.

But, hey. He’s _definitely_ whimpering once Jeff gets his face in there. Stubble and teeth and sucking pressure and it’s almost too much, it really _is_. Fucking maddening. He’s bucking, one hand going back to grip at Jeff’s hair, pull him in or yank him off; he can’t decide. Feel-hears Jeff chuckling, snarling—they’re both enjoying this, and Jeff there-there’s him through those steady-slowest pumps of fake dick which tease him over the edge too intense too soon, like a blow to the guts.

Jeff kneads at his balls like he’s determined to get more and Jared can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop groaning either, closes his eyes against the quickening rhythm Jeff fucks the toy into him with. It’s such a blunt pressure; it should be hurting more. It should, it should.

He’s going more and more quiet and lets Jeff play around with his ass as the guy deems fit. Loose and exhausted but the constant stimulation keeps Jared present. Has him interested again after a while, and Jeff gives a low chuckle upon him pushing back into it.

Hears, “There he is,” and smiles along.


	7. Chapter 7

“We spoke to him, once. After, I mean.”

Jared rubs the scratchy heel of his foot along Jeff’s calf, eyes up at the ceiling. His right middle finger doodles endlessly along the one line making up the circle on his chest.

He gives a side glance to check if Jeff’s still listening. He is. “Like, we used an Ouija board.”

Jeff blinks, tired. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Eyes back heavenwards. “Creeped me out. So, only that one time.”

“And how did that work out?”

“It was…” He tries to pin down a word for it, fails, starts over. “Eve said it was legit, but I don’t really believe h-her.”

“Too good to be true?”

“Yeah.” Jared nods at nothing, at no one.

“What did he say?”

“Hm. That he. Is in a good place, now. That w-we shouldn’t be sad.”

Jeff not-asks, “You miss him,” and Jared can’t reply to that. Just keeps circling his finger. Feels something tugging at his wrist eventually, finds it to be Jeff’s hand. Hears, “What’s that mean?” and tries to follow where Jeff’s nodding his chin at.

“Oh. Uh.” He gets his hand back, traces the tattoo again.

“A circle. Infinity. Perfection.”

“Everything that c-c-comes around, and, such. He loved baseball,” Jared adds, unsure, and Jeff Morgan laughs soft. “We were kids. I don’t remember.”

“Of course you do. But it’s okay, kiddo.” Jeff pats his collarbone. “All in its time. Or never. Whatever.”

Jared’s searching Jeff’s face as if there was an answer in there, somewhere. Like these two Jeffs are connected, and this is destiny, or whatever, and he just doesn’t get it.

“Do you ever feel…”

Jeff’s eyeing him now.

Jared blinks over the elbow of the arm he’s laid his head on. “D-do you ever feel, like, you will…never understand something? But, that it’s, kinda, okay? Like, you know, somehow, that. You’ll be okay, even if you n-never, get over it?”

“Huh.” Jeff nods, impressed. Jared feels stupid. “I mean, yeah? Yeah, sure. You ever feel like that?”

Jared nods.

“The world is pretty messed up, y’know,” Jeff Morgan tells him, “I think we’re better off not understanding half of it.”

~

Jared wakes to pressure on the top of his head, and his body complies, more asleep than awake, ducks and moves until the pressure recedes, shifts. Jeff’s nudging him with his hand on his cheek, in his hair, and Jared’s got a dick in his face before he’s even opened his eyes right.

His jaw is too slack and he gets a hand on there to help but Jeff’s sighing happy nevertheless.

Jeff’s dick is perfectly plump. Like he’s about to blow already. Jared has no indication of time, here, under the covers. Still looks dark out, but who knows.

He kitten-licks around the shape of him—probes the slit, down to just underneath the head. Jeff pushes farther and Jared sucks his cheeks in, gives a handful of tight strokes. He gets a growl for that, another inch or two.

The bed groans as Jeff begins to move, and Jared does his best to keep that dick in his mouth while Jeff’s rolling over to straddle his face. He gets his arms under and around Jeff’s thighs and holds onto his ass and the blankets slip some, leave them exposed to the chill air of the room and even behind closed eyes Jared can tell the sun’s not up yet. Not that he’d mind missing school, but Jeff’s gotta go to work eventually.

Jeff settles in like this is perfectly normal for them. Like all he has to do is lay Jared out and use him, and Jared struggles to swallow with Jeff’s balls dipping warm on his chin, and the bedsprings creak all soft, and Jared, now on his back, feels how sore he is. How loose, still, from last night.

Both too sleepy and consumed by his rut, Jeff can’t be bothered to tell Jared to keep his hands off his own dick.

They cuddle, after (or: Jeff’s drifting in and out of consciousness and Jared takes advantage).

Jeff pets at the burn scars on Jared’s legs. “Lookin’ good.”

“Yeah,” and, as he realizes, “haven’t done it in awhile.”

“Mh. That’s good.”

~

Jared doesn’t mean to make eye contact with Scott. He really doesn’t.

Didn’t expect the guy to be staring at him like that but those eyes are a little too low and Jared remembers the love bites decaying around his throat like a collar.

Scott looks caught, embarrassed, and Jared realizes that and scoffs.

Scott’s face crumbles and Jared lunges into a run.

They catch him, naturally. He manages to land a nice kick in Peterson’s balls and the payback is heavy but they can’t take that triumph away from him. Josh’s twisting his arms, sitting on his back, and Jared tries not to squirm and dislocate his shoulders himself, wheezes with his face in his own vomit and shaking like a dog and someone else is yanking on his hair, and Peterson leans down to snarl about whether or not _you like that, faggot?_ (Well, he does, but he keeps that to himself.)

That’s a new one. He can’t tell how they know.

(Prolly too big of a mouth to leave such carnage _and_ belong to Eve. Or: smiling at Scott Evans makes you gay, period.)

He limps home with a shiner and Eve buzzing around him, and Mom just gives a tired look and a sigh and Jared lets Eve doctor him with an ice pack.

“Stop prodding at it! Jesus.” Jared keeps prodding.

He raises his chin and turns his head, eyes on his reflection in Meg’s Hello Kitty compact mirror. The bruise is coming along pretty good. He’s still shaky with adrenaline and shock, giddy and loose-limbed like he nutted a healthy amount of times in a row. Everything is quieter—and, somehow, fucking hilarious: Eve and her concern, as if this was the first time someone rammed their hundred-dollar sneakers into his reproductive organs. He insists, “I’m fine,” and smiles, and that turns her frown even deeper.

Jeff’s long home by the time Eve can be argued into leaving Jared be. Jared sneaks inside the house; Jeff’s by himself. Perfect. Doesn’t look up at him speaking, “They had a special on those Saw movies you wouldn’t shut up about. But they also had this one, so.”

Jeff turns to start rock paper scissor with _Doom_ still in hand, his left already bunched to a fist long before he looks up. He squints, and Jared hopes he looks as cool draped against the doorframe as he feels like.

“What happened to your face?”

Jared smiles, “Got into a fight,” like it’s something worthy of praise.

Jeff puts the DVD down and starts coming towards him, concern mixed with anger and growling, “Yeah, sure, bullshit,” and, “Lemme see. Hurts?”

Jared tips his chin up for Jeff’s hand like this is a kiss. Jeff makes an unhappy noise and Jared’s dick throbs thick in his jeans.

“I guess I should see the other guy, huh?”

“Three,” corrects Jared, and Jeff’s expression shifts into honest surprise. “It looks w-w-worse than it is. My knee’s much—” Jeff’s grip on his arm stops him in his tracks to pull the rips in his jeans in place to show off the mess.

“Why were three kids beating the shit outta you?”

Jared narrows his eyes. “How w-w-would I know? It’s probably a sport f-for them, at this point?”

He can’t bring himself to repeat back what they called him. Something tells him Jeff knows anyway.

Jeff’s fury eventually softens most of the way, leaves his face tight but his eyes are warmer now, almost gentle. He asks, “You alright?” and Jared nods, finally finds the guts to touch Jeff back; a loose hand on his arm and he leans in, and Jeff lets him kiss him. Jared puts his hand from arm to belly and rocks up on the tips of his toes to nuzzle Jeff’s mouth better.

He whispers, “I got one’a them right in the balls,” and under a smile, “Almost pissed himself,” and he feels Jeff scoffing, telling him, “You little shit.”

Jared’s got both palms spread wide on Morgan’s belly, his tongue digging long past those teeth and Jeff eventually lets go of his arm in favor of cupping his neck instead. Jared lets him pull them apart up top and rubs their dicks together down below. Those fingers press into the sores on his throat and he huffs more than pleased.

“You really get off on this shit, huh?”

Jared nods, gasps a little when Jeff’s grip fastens. Grinds his hips up harder.

“How’s your ass?”

“Uh, good.”

“They got you anywhere else?” Jared nods and Jeff wants to know, “Where?”

“R-ribs? Balls. Knees and elbows, ’cause—they held m-me down.”

“They kicked you?” Jared nods. “In your balls?”

“Taint, uh, dick. Just, generally.”

“And you’re not sore?”

“S-sore as shit,” grins Jared, drives his hips up in emphasis and hisses when Jeff meets him halfway. “Fuck,” lip-licked and dry and, “D-do that again.”

Jeff squeezes his throat harder and Jared’s losing the smirk, loses everything but the serenity, the pleasure.

Jeff reminds, “Don’t come.”

Jared jerks his head; a fleeting smile and he tries to swallow. He loves that he can’t.

He’s released just when the twitching begins. Blinks stupid at Jeff who’s unlovingly tucking stray hairs back behind Jared’s ears, is staring Jared down like he’s about to figure something out, like there’s still a question between them.

But then Jeff sighs, “Fuck it,” and shoves Jared from him completely. “Upstairs. Gimme a couple minutes.”

Jared’s stripping out of his clothes like they burn him. Hears the downstairs toilet flushing and looks down his body, the bruises and then the ruddy-wet tip of his dick. He gives it a few tugs that have him tingling just right, and by the time Jeff’s made it up the stairs he’s long abandoned it.

Jeff’s naked. Like. Completely.

Jared can’t decide if he finds the situation hilarious or hot.

Jeff Morgan stops just past the doorway. He nods towards the dresser. “First drawer. Lube.”

Jared retrieves that. Hears, “Two fingers, now,” and feels his skin going just a little tighter. He squirts a reasonable amount of slick on middle and ring, reaches behind himself and steadies the other arm on top of the dresser. The angle isn’t the best. That’s not the point.

Jared breathes past the blunt initial burn, eyes on Jeff now, who’s watching him, close. Jeff’s usually the one doing this. Jeff’s on half-mast by now.

“Three.”

Jared strains his wrist to cram his index next to the other two. He cringes at the too-soon-too-much but he’s been there before, and it’ll only take a few more moments. Jeff reminds, “Breathe,” and Jared exhales thin and nervous, unsure what to do, how he looks. Jeff’s told him to do it to himself before, in his own bed. But no one had been watching him then.

“That’s enough.” Jared pops his fingers free and wipes them on his thigh. “Come here.”

Jeff’s belly meets him first, then his dick, then his mouth.

Jeff tosses him onto the bed, belly-down, and crawls after him. The sudden speed ratchets some primitive sort of panic in him and he lunges forward, away, but Jeff gets a hold of his neck and pins him down, knees his thighs apart. Hums, “Where’re you going, huh,” and Jared has no answer, couldn’t reply anyway with Jeff’s hand strangling him and his mouth forced onto the sheets, the fucking agony zinging through his battered face. Jeff slaps him on the ass and Jared wrenches his face free, hisses for the sting of it and grips the sheets when Jeff lowers himself. It’s not all his weight, and not all his force goes into the nip to Jared’s neck but it’s enough to make him feel trapped. Enough to send his legs shaking with the pressure on his bloodied knees.

Jared’s eyes flutter open-closed when he feels Jeff’s hand going between them, tip-guiding his cock up. He tries not to but does make a sound on the initial push-in, a strangled twist to his voice and he can _feel_ Jeff’s purr vibrating through his back, his neck. Jeff stabs the first few inches home and Jared blatantly howls, twists his fists harder into the sheets and he’s glad Jeff’s wrenching his face back into the mattress. Dual pains and that shit.

All of Morgan’s weight is slowly coming down on him, crushing him, overwhelming him. He whimpers and Jeff shushes him, sets up a line of bites along the back of his shoulder.

Jeff sucks where he bit once he’s balls-deep. Rocks them together lazily, and Jared’s aware he’s supposed to adjust now, get used to it, but how is that even possible, how is it ever _not_ supposed to feel like he’s being ripped apart? Jeff’s lodged so deep in him it cannot be healthy. His insides try to accommodate, flutter in sheer panic and lack of understanding and every throb shoots the worst-best pain up his spine. Jeff lets him come up for air eventually and slops out-into him a first time while Jared’s still gasping, and Jared’s ass makes a noise, and Jared himself makes one, and Jeff kisses up his neck, into his hair, and threads his arms under Jared’s chest so he can hold him even tighter.

Every hump knocks the air out of Jared until he’s barely even wheezing anymore. The pain is blinding, perfect, the white-sparks kind of shit that brings tears to your eyes if you want it or not, and Jared’s almost sobbing ‘no’ when Jeff lifts himself just a little, reduces the pressure, but he can’t speak. His mouth falls open in a hollow grunt when Jeff slams into him with much, much more sharpness than before.

Jeff does it again. And again.

Only when he gets backhanded by what he thought were the sheets he realizes he’s been clawing at Jeff’s arm. Slurs, “Fuck,” and it comes out hiccuped on the upper end because Jeff’s cock is punching into him again, precise and brutal, and Jared’s getting his lower back pressed down before he gets his throat gripped, two huge hands and he’s half-aware on his elbows, or something, and Jeff’s pulling him back into the thrusts with his choke-hold.

Part of Jared hears the bed beginning to creak all gently (like an encouragement).

“Push your ass out. Yeah, like that. Just like that.”

Jared gurgles.

His ass doesn’t sound much better.

Jeff shifts to curl his hands around Jared’s shoulders instead, makes him meet him by hauling him back in time with pumping his hips forward. Jared’s fish-mouthing for air, delirious, limbs scrabbling over the loosened sheets, unable to find support. Jeff spanks him again and gets his other hand around his hip, rises to his knees and drags Jared’s ass up with him, tells him to, “Keep your chest down now,” and Jared doesn’t know what to do with his face and just splutters through the picked-up rhythm, the too-deep strokes that punch him out where he didn’t know he could be.

He doesn’t think he’s heard anyone make noises like him in here before.

“Yeah, that’s what he likes,” coos Jeff, and Jared tries to nod but his neck just flops around so he groans, “Yes, _yes_ ,” and Jeff spanks him again and he yelps, “FUCK!” and Jeff laughs, and, it’s. So. Fucking. Good.

Jeff pulls him back on the bed so he can get a solid leg on the floor, hikes the other up. Jared barks.

“Legs together. Spread your ass with your hands. Yeah,” and god, oh god fuck, “yeah, that’s it.”

Jared can’t even moan anymore. Just splutters into the spit-soaked sheets and holds on, lets Jeff pound him out like he wants. All his efforts go into dig-pulling his fingers into his asscheeks and arching his back out, into somehow not getting knocked over by every single beat. Jeff helps by wringing the tiny span of his hips.

He cannot hold himself up once Jeff lets him go, dislodges his cock and lets him collapse on the bed. Hears, “Phew. I need a second,” and barely feels his legs, his arms. Is not close to catching his breath when he hears the tap running in the bathroom next-door, hears Morgan slurping the water straight from it. He’s got enough spirit back in him to blink up at the man but can’t do much about being pushed and arranged. Tries to kiss back but his jaw feels worryingly sloppy.

Jeff’s a sweat-slick, hairy wall up against his back. Got an arm under him and holds him on his side like that, licks and sighs into his mouth. Jared manages to gingerly pet his forearm eventually.

“Hmmm. How’s it going, huh. You alright?” Jared nods, and swallows. Has to go a little cross-eyed to see Jeff’s face this close up, and Jeff’s smiling. “Put me back in there. C’mon.”

Jeff helps him getting his hand on his dick. He huffs, exhausted. Everything’s slippery. Jeff rolls his hips forward in just the right moment, and Jared whimpers like he’s back to crying. Lets Jeff suck kisses up his bared neck and tries to shift his legs so it won’t hurt as bad. There’s probably no such thing.

Jeff gets ahold of his upper leg and angles it up-away, effectively spreading Jared’s legs, and eats at his mouth while he ignores the gasps and grunts streaming up Jared’s throat.

“Fuck, fuck.” Jared’s seeing stars, again. Jeff lets him nestle their foreheads together with Jared’s neck turned dangerously far around just to be face to face. He’s holding onto Jeff’s arm choking around his chest and reaches the other to get a hold of his hair, his ear, something. Gets a chuckle, a lick to his gums. Jeff’s hammering the air out of him again.

“I can do this all night,” he says, the smug fucking bastard. “Let me know when you’ve had enough.”

Things blur. Pain and pleasure and dream and reality. Jeff slurps after gnawing on Jared’s shoulder or neck, hums sweet into his ear. The world turns again and Jared whines, stomach-down again and helplessly buried, tries, “Please,” and gets his face slapped for it a couple times. Again, “Please,” and Jeff fucks up into him like he’s a toy, a lifeless something he doesn’t even care about, and Jared splutters, “Oh, _oh_ ,” and it feels weird, and wrong, and it burns, and Jeff’s hand finds his cock between the sheets just in time to really take Jared’s legs out under him.

Jared can’t even buck there’s so little space.

Chants, “Shit, _shit_ ,” and his voice raises in a wild panic, and Jeff’s got his teeth in him again and is wrenching him down and jacking him off through the spasms overtaking him head to toe, milks him out on the sheets while he keeps snapping his hips in, in, and Jared roars, and it won’t stop.

Jeff slows eventually, dies down to a minute rocking motion, keeping his cock as deep as it will go. Jared’s too out of it to really feel much but once Jeff really exhales and rolls off of him, out of him, the case is clear.

He falls under then and there. Wakes up to Jeff snoring and to the heaviest urge to go to the bathroom. He barely makes it.

Jared washes up sporadically just because there’s no way anything but water and air are gonna touch his asshole right now. He tries to pet around it but no, nope, no.

He waddles back to bed, toweled dry only from the thighs down. Disgusted, he hefts himself to the window to crack it ajar. Jeff’s still out like a light. Jared watches him shiver eventually, and scoots closer so he can wrap around him, chest to chest.

Jeff’s face nuzzles Jared’s armpit, and Jared throws a leg over Jeff’s hip. He buries his nose into the crown of Jeff’s hair and breathes in.

Jeff’s arm ends up around him.

~

Jared’s eyes open to a stack of syrup-drowned pancakes that he gladly accepts.

The pancakes are horribly bland, naturally, but the syrup helps. Jared stuffs his face with growing interest and Jeff lies down next to him, still naked, but at least showered. He wipes his thumb over the corner of Jared’s mouth and licks the syrup off himself.

Jeff’s got his teeth-smile going on. “How’re we doin’, huh?”

Jared chews, thinks. “It’s like a conc-c-c-cussion. In my _ass_.”

Jeff’s belly wobbles with his laugh. “Really now? Sounded like you enjoyed it though.” Jared reciprocates the smile, and Jeff’s eyes flirt sweet. “Eat up.”

The last forkful barely fits into his stuffed cheek. Jared makes half-hearted attempts to scoot away when Jeff takes away the plate and cutlery, rolls closer to him. Doesn’t taste like he brushed his teeth this morning.

Everything hurts, even getting a hard-on. Jeff’s nursing on his tongue and rubs his thumbs in circles over his nipples, and Jared shudders, hikes his leg up which Jeff gratefully pulls over his own hip.

Eyes closed and all warm and Jeff’s petting the small of his back. “‘M sore,” he slurs, and Jeff’s semi-hard cock bumps up against his taint.

Jeff’s free hand goes down to pinch at his ass. Jared feels him smiling against his mouth. “What if I kiss it?”

It hurts terribly, at first. Until Jeff’s somehow made it better and is in there with all of his tongue and some of his teeth, and Jared’s got both hands in his hair and rocks his ass up for more. There’s obviously some kind of drug going on in Morgan’s spit. There’s no other way.

Jared’s shuddering his breath and the sane part of his consciousness really really wants to stop Morgan from grabbing one of the lube bottles around the room. But he ends up just blinking down his body, at how deliberately Morgan drizzles slick on his cock and spreads it with a full squelching sound. Eh, it’s gonna be okay. Probably.

Morgan hums, “Just for a minute,” and Jared’s legs fall outwards a little more, and Jeff lies onto him and slurps into his mouth while he feeds his cock into the sore throb of his ass, and it won’t be just for a minute, but that’s somehow okay.

~

He can’t stop staring at it.

He’ll have to get a bigger mirror at some point. It’s hard to catch a clear view in the tiny compact thing he stole from Meg. But, god.

His asshole is gaping so wide the fear that it might never close properly again is making his ball-hairs stand up.

It’s been hours since he limped back home.

Jared steals some lotion from the bathroom which he knows is acceptable for jerking off and lathers a handful on himself in hopes of it helping the healing process. It doesn’t. _It burns like fire_. He swears a lot and showers, again.

The afternoon is spent in bed, jerking off to the fresh memories. To the still-there throb. Like Jeff’s still in there.

~

“For Christ’s sake.” Mom stomps over to the kitchen cabinets and produces a bag of chips she then presses into Jared’s useless hands. “At least bring your own food every once in a while! I don’t want him thinking we’re exploiting him.”

“Okay.”

She adds, “Don’t tell him I said that,” and Jared’s already out the door.

He’s been holding off from coming over ever since the cars started piling up in Jeff’s driveway. Jared lets himself in through the patio door and the guys who already know him holler a warm welcome. One starts the whole handshake thing and Jared soldiers through six different hands. He ducks away under most eyes and happily slips into the kitchen as soon as possible.

Jeff slaps him on the ass and grins, “Hey,” and Jared accepts that beer gratefully. “C’mon, hurry it up. Jimmy’s a sonofabitch about kids ’n drinking.” So Jared guzzles. Jeff pats his back once he’s successfully emptied the bottle, belches, hard, and chuckles for the fondness in Jeff’s eye.

“Jimmy, Pete, Jared.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Yeah, yeah, now can we please shut up and watch the game? Thanks, that’d be great.”

Jared’s thought about inviting Dad, eventually. It’d do him good, actually stepping foot outside his basement every once in a while. Dude stuff, beer, sports, junk food…hell, Dad would enjoy it. Everyone’s rowdy but, in the end, friendly. But, it’d probably be weird. Especially since he’d ask questions, later, about why again that Morgan guy’s having his hands on his son’s leg so frequently. But Dad probably wouldn’t agree on joining them anyway. Mom likes to joke about how Jared’s hermit gene’s definitely not originating from _her_ side of the family.

Jared’s lightheaded from the too-rushed beer, from the fact that he gets to sit next to Jeff. He’s got at least a semi going on with Jeff constantly pawing at his thigh, draping his arm around him, in front of everyone. Jared keeps shoveling chips into his mouth for the sole sake of busying himself at all. Football doesn’t interest him in the least. Jeff knows that. Jeff also knows that Jared doesn’t mind spending ninety minutes in front of something he isn’t interested in as long as it gets him to be around Jeff.

It’s easy to play along. Just holler when everyone else hollers and be quiet the rest of the time. Their team is doing well and Jared eventually skips celebrating together with everyone—they’re too absorbed by the impending victory to notice him anyway.

He recognizes at least three of them, the longer he gets to blatantly check them out with their jaws dropped and their entire focus on the shit-ass TV screen. Some seem know each other. If they know Jeff’s sleeping with all of them? How much do they know at all? Do they even care?

Halftime rolls around and everyone beelines for the bathrooms. Jeff returns first, slumps down on the sofa with a grunt, and slaps his hand right back onto Jared’s thigh. Jared catches the ginger peering, and is caught catching him, and gets a smirk. The corner of Jared’s mouth dares to dip upwards in response and Jeff rucks his legs open just a little more.

More of the guys return in dribs and drabs, chattering, grabbing fresh beers. The bald guy with tattoos swirling up his arms refills the few bowls Jeff’s kitchen has to offer and gets too-adoring comments for it. They have him growling threats while he’s obviously smiling for it. Jared’s seated between Jeff and a nameless guy Jared knows enjoys getting pissed on, and he feels pretty fucking good. Not out of place, for once.

The game’s still on hold. “So, how do you know Jeff?”

Jared doesn’t realize he’s addressed until he looks up and finds too many faces turned towards him.

“Uh. I. Live next door, so.”

Pete chuckles. “Convenient.”

Tattoo guy sighs all dramatically, “I live in the wrong neighborhood,” and earns leering laughter for it.

Jeff’s chuckling quietly right next to him and Jared feels fucking elated.

Jared’s not stupid. Jeff never let him stay around with the guys over but since they’ve crossed so many lines lately it’s apparently alright now. They both know exactly what’s gonna go down in here as soon as the game’s done with.

Thank fucking god Norman’s not here tonight.

Someone tells Jeff that he’s, “Lucky,” and Jeff’s turning the volume up, snaps, “Shut up, they’re about to start.” They actually are.

Jared’s overwhelmed, left alone with the implications and his chips are pretty much gone by now. With the entire room’s focus back on the screen, Jared’s the only one taking notice of Jeff’s hand sliding from his thigh to between his legs, easy as that.

Jared’s pulse kicks into the clump of potatoes in his stomach, and he keeps his gaze steady up front.

Jeff’s slow, insistent kneads got him hard in no time whatsoever. He swallows, leaned back in the sofa and someone is making a comment about the referee’s incompetence, far away. Jeff tells the guy, “Bullshit,” and, closer to Jared but not much quieter, “Can you hold out till the game’s done?”

Jared gawps at him, and god at least one of the guys must be looking at them now, and he stammers something in the way of, “No?” and feels Jeff’s hand shifting from his cock to the button of his jeans, and.

Jeff sighs with honest annoyance. “I’m aware this is my own fault, but you better shut up.”

Jared gets his dick pulled out the zipped-down fly of his jeans and, looking up from it, meets way, way too many sets of eyes.

He flicks his gaze right back down, to where Jeff’s leaning over his lap and is wrapping his mouth around his dick, and, god, he almost slaps the guy on the head.

Jared’s hips jerk up before Jeff holds him down, and Jared’s face goes numb, and the room is completely silent but for the TV and the gasp he can’t suppress upon hitting the back of Jeff’s throat, and.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Someone groans. “Seriously now? I thought we wanted to watch this, man.”

Jeff pulls off to sneer, “Then keep watching,” and Jared hears at least two guys giggling, feels the guy next to him shifting.

Jared’s leg gets gripped by the knee, pulled out farther; that’s three hands on him now and he’s instantly weak-kneed with it, boneless and with his dick more than two-thirds down Jeff’s throat. Someone says, “Shit,” all adoring and simple, and, hell.

“You wanna take those off, huh?” (Close to him, the guy still pulling his leg out.)

Jared slurs, “Uh-huh,” and Jesus his hands are unsteady but he gets help immediately and suddenly his jeans are being yanked down, get caught between his knees and it’s a struggle until Jeff and the guy can spread his legs to the audience of the room.

So this is how it feels to _be_ watched, huh.

Jeff seizes the opportunity to rub his fingers down into Jared’s gash, and there’s an appreciative noise for that, somewhere. Jared tries to wriggle into the touch but he’s pinned in place.

“Shit,” again, “That’s a nice dick.”

Jared feels Jeff popping off it just to show him off. One hand around the base wags it like some dog’s tail and Jared meets ginger’s eyes, or, looks him in the face; finds him enthralled like Jared’s got the holy grail or something between his legs and, hell. Holy shit. He might be the fucking party favor.

“Feel like taking a turn, Pete?” Oh, shit.

Ginger Pete’s and Jared’s eyes meet and there might be a question there, but Jared’s pleading face apparently says enough because the next thing Pete’s doing is breaking into the widest fucking smile like he’s just won the Super Bowl himself. “Hell yeah.”

Pete’s emigrating from armchair to the floor between Jared’s legs so fast Jared’s cock barely gets any air before it’s swallowed down again, and someone’s cheering, someone else chuckles, and Jared might be groaning because fuck he’s gonna die—feels Jeff tugging on his hair, pulling it back over his head, patting his cheek.

“Lemme know if it gets too much.”

There’s bigger chances Jared’s gonna bite his own dick off.

They nudge and shove and arrange him as they please and Jared’s all butter, all tangled limbs and his mouth drops open before the dick next to it finally attempts to pry it open. Jared feels the sigh going through the guy, feels Pete still going strong on his cock. Jared’s wedged into the sofa and it’s not as comfortable as one would think but he can’t care about that now, not with two hands pulling him down on cock and he chokes, just a little, just once. The guy’s not completely hard just yet.

Jared’s half-aware his jeans are getting pulled from where they’re caught around his sneakers, and he thinks it might be Jeff’s fingers wedging themselves between the sofa and his ass. Another hand tugs at what little of an asscheek he has and pulls him open for the attention. His position is too twisted to do much at all.

Jared blinks blearily, disoriented with two lubed fingers (yeah, definitely Jeff) pushing up into his guts and seizing nice in Pete’s throat, coughs around the dick in his mouth. Finds whoever’s not on him watching him, and, wow. Just wow.

Jeff and Pete switch places and there’s another dick pushing into Jared’s only shortly empty mouth, and Jared might be the only one who still hears the TV. People and hands and voices blur, and Jared can’t hear himself right, feels a first sheen of sweat in the back of his knees and on his neck and gets his cheek stroked sweet, gets his hair played with while they toy around. Pete’s French kissing his asshole now and Jeff’s choking his dick into compliance.

He has no damn clue how he winds up half-heaved on top of the kitchen isle but he registers his sneakers and his tee are still on and that Jeff gets his dick into him with his ass hanging in the air. He’s balancing his weight on his forearms with his legs over Jeff’s arms and groans aloud with the last fat inches of Jeff sinking into him, plugging him up tight—another hand claps over his mouth; another fists into his hair, holds him fast.

He can hear the others fucking in the living room.

Jared blends in and out of consciousness with that hand pinching his nose shut, too, eventually, and feels too quivery to stand once he’s lowered from the suspended position. He might say that out loud because he gets his ass clapped for that, his dick next, and he yelps, but they keep going. He turns his front away and they thus push his chest down on the isle, kick his legs apart. They tell him to beg but he doesn’t. Not until they’re taking turns slapping his asshole.

Jared half-wakes shoved up against what he knows are the tiles of the downstairs bathroom, on a good way to a concussion with his head thunking against the wall. Arms and legs wound around the guy who’s even fatter than Jeff and who’s grunting like a pig while he turns him out, and Jared gets the sweetest groans for kissing his tongue all the way back into that mouth. They stumble out, eventually, and Jared’s taking notice of the fact that he lost his shirt somewhere, sometime, and lets himself get tugged up the stairs. He only stumbles over his feet, like, twice.

Tattoo guy slams the bedroom door behind them and Jared blinks at him, stupid.

The guy rushes into him like a freight train, would have knocked him over easily if he wasn’t wiring his hands around Jared’s skull, keeping him locked while kissing the life out of him—Jared hears _KISS_ blaring from downstairs, aborted cries and laughter. He has no feeling for how late it must be.

They stumble into Jeff’s dresser and rattle some shit in there, and Jared laughs, gets his face slapped, his neck gripped, and smiles even more.

“Fucking little punks like you.” Tattoo guy spits him in the face. “God. Fuck.”

Jared echoes that back at him, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” arms twisted behind his back and pulling dangerously tight, his ass so fucking sore already but it’s like a never-ending itch, too good to be left alone. He’s face-down in a puddle he doesn’t remember from last night, and he gets his wrists tied to the headboard of Jeff’s bed once he half-heartedly play-pretends to push the guy off. He’s pretty sure this guy’s Jim, now. He feels the wedding band pressing against his lip.

Jim’s slapping into him hard enough to really make the bed shake, and Jared can’t see right beyond the white lights dancing with the black threatening his vision. He might be whimpering now, since Jim’s letting go of his nose to backhand him on his temple, really makes his ears ring.

Jared hadn’t thought he could come again.

“Scoot the fuck over. You kidding me?”

Jared blinks, frowns, lets Jeff push him throat-first into Jim’s shoulder, and closes his eyes, nuzzles in.

“In my bed? Seriously? You assholes.”

Jared grumbles upon the unnecessary elbow to his ribs, kicks blind and hits something, gets the back of his head smacked in return, hard. Jeff settles eventually, and Jared falls back under.

Jim wakes him undefined hours later with slow, sweet kisses. Murmurs nonsense Jared isn’t interested in and makes him roll over, gets his dick back in there. Hurts like a bitch but it’s so warm and cozy and lazy and shit he’s so _full_. Jeff’s snoring through it all, doesn’t even stir once.

Jared’s picking up his clothes first thing after having the most painful trip to the bathroom. Still feels unsteady on his legs but it’s kinda awesome, so.

Pig guy on the floor and mustache guy on the sofa makes two guys still out in the living room. Pete’s waving at him from the patio, smoke wedged into his mouth and looking way too composed after a night like this.

Jared steps out to bum a cig off the guy. The first drag is heavenly. So is the third. The tenth.

“What a night, huh? Wait, is that blood?”

Jared nods, eyes nowhere. Smiles at his feet, dips away ashes.


	8. Chapter 8

Dad likes to remind him that every man should have one high-quality suit in his wardrobe, for important dates. It stands for class and good mannerism. Apparently, and just like Jared, Morgan doesn’t consider either of those things essential.

Morgan’s got the coveralls for work and wears them to nothing _but_ work. Jared hasn’t seen them making a reappearance since the Nissan has been finished. Then there’s the casual jeans-and-tee combo for going to and coming home from work, the sweatpants he has three identical pairs of and which are in different stages of decay. And then there’s what to Dad is the one good suit. The fine linen so to say.

Jeff’s got that one, soft-worn leather jacket. Jet black and in mint condition despite its obvious age. He has ‘good’ jeans too. They sit a little tighter, hug his junk a little less comfortably.

Jared swears Morgan’s got a different set of virtues depending on which of those four types of outfits he’s in. Hell, a different _personality_.

For Morgan, going out means: a clean shave. Showering. Eau de toilette. He takes a seat at the kitchen table with _combed hair_ and Jared feels immediately and entirely underdressed.

“You wanna be in the closet tonight,” he tells him, through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “’Round eleven or so.”

Jared jerks off once he’s alone, just so he won’t explode. It helps for about half an hour. He’s climbing the walls, occasionally provokes despair by peeking at the clock. He settles into the closet at half past ten. Just to make sure. He brings his Discman with some _Slipknot_ , turned very very low so not even a mouse could hear him downstairs—but he’d hear said _mouse_.

Without any concept of time in his hideout, the unmistakable noise of a car pulling into Morgan’s driveway has him skittering to pull the headphones off, turn the music off. Jared rises to a stand, back to the wall and what little clothes Jeff deems worthy of ending up on actual hangers instead of the ‘clean’ pile in the bathroom.

It doesn’t take them long to find their way into the bedroom, as per usual. Jared doesn’t recognize the guy; blond and tall and around Jeff’s age, maybe a little older. He replies in a hushed tone, like he’s shy, but strips out of his clothes with grace and impressive speed. Jared mimics Jeff adjusting his junk at the sight. Their tastes don’t differ much.

The guy drops onto all fours on the edge of the bed, in profile for Jared, ass facing Morgan; he looks back over his shoulder and half-smiles saying, “I’m all ready,” and Jeff snickers, “Obviously.”

Jeff calls him a slut and the guy lowers from hands to elbows. Jared can see him smiling into the crook of his arm.

Jeff doesn’t let him wait for long, and he sure as hell doesn’t go easy on him either. However much a guy thinks he can take it up the ass, Morgan doesn’t shy away from reminding them that he’s the one to decide just how much they will actually take. And this one’s practiced, definitely, shoves back into Jeff’s hips and shows all the submission Jared knows Jeff requires of a good fuck. They’re great together. They’re even better together once Jeff goes to pull out some gear from the dresser and ties the guy to the bed like some animal ready to be slaughtered.

When he’s getting too loud, Jeff gags him with a bundle of socks and what might have been boxer shorts once. Retrieves one of the blindfolds and covers the guy’s eyes. That ass is still held up high for him.

The guy begs around the fabric between his teeth.

Jeff teases, “What was that?” and pets some hairs out of that face, readjusts the ties on the guy’s arms pulling them tight up behind his back.

It sounds like ‘please’. But what else is new.

“Mh, I don’t know about that, Jerry.”

Jeff walks straight up to the closet, and Jared’s knees wobble dangerously.

Jeff finds eye contact with him through the blinds of the doors and puts his forefinger against his lips in obvious command. He pulls the doors open and gestures for Jared to follow him. Jared—barefoot, _Mother’s Worst_ tee and massive tent in his jeans—moves as quietly as he can and tries not to breathe, for good measure.

Jeff’s voice booms, “I’m not convinced you’ve been good enough to deserve that,” and they’re standing right behind Jerry now, the carnage of his asshole Jeff’s cock left him with, slathered in lube and some pinkish splots of blood and it’s mouthing at nothing, already such a mess. “Show me how much you need it, boy.”

Part of Jared can’t understand how that other part of Jared can be this appreciative of the sight Jerry gives them by straining his asshole, making it wink and move and push out air and lube. He’s wagging his ass, too.

Jeff tells him, “Well,” looks down Jerry’s body and waves for Jared’s attention. He pretend-slaps the air just over Jerry’s ass before he points at Jared, and, oh god.

Jared raises his arm, unbelieving and wide-eyed at Jeff who nods without even looking at him, and he slams his hand across Jerry’s ass as hard as he can.

Jerry bucks forward before rocking right back, and Jared hears him whimpering and feels his palm stinging and Jeff says, “Now we’re getting there,” and holds four of his fingers up to Jared, points at Jerry’s ass again, so. Jared hits him another four times.

It’s exhilarating despite knowing he’s probably not doing it just right. It hurts his wrist and he lays them out two per side, one-two one-two, and shakes his hand out after, and keeps his stupid mouth shut. He whips his attention back at Jeff with his free hand pressing down on the increasingly damp bulge in his jeans.

Jeff rubs over the quickly reddening skin on Jerry’s ass, shushes poor the poor guy who’s shuddering through the touches. Looks back at Jared, and smiles sweet, his hair long disheveled and hanging off his forehead in thin strings. Jeff lifts his hand off Jerry and hooks middle and forefinger together in a scooping motion.

Jared replicates the posture and, after a last unmistakable approve of Jeff, slides his fingers into Jerry’s ass.

The sensation is. Overwhelming.

Jerry whimpers, probably begs again, and Jared’s dick lurches hard up against his zipper with the hot-wet suck milking around his fingers, like a mouth. A very loose, very hot-inside mouth.

Jeff regains his attention with a digging motion, ring finger included, too.

Jared adds that third and crook-pumps all of them like Jeff’s demonstrating.

Jerry bucks and Jared’s free hand rushes to stabilize him by the hip so the guy doesn’t fall to his side. His eyes dart back to Jeff in panic, was he supposed to even do that, but Jeff just gives him a confident nod and folds his right hand, forms a ring with his left and inserts the first into the latter.

Oh, fuck.

Jared pulls out a bit so he can fit his pinkie in, and pushes deep, until he begins to feel resistance.

He’s got four of his fingers in this man’s ass.

“Takin’ it like the champ you are.” Jeff teeth-grins and Jared pumps his fingers in there like he’s being shown. “Feelin’ ready.” He grabs Jared’s wrist, and, in bewilderment of Jared and a deeply satisfied moan from Jerry, forces his hand in until Jared’s outstretched thumb stops him.

Jared can’t take his eyes off it.

Prods his fingers around in there, careful, experimenting. Fascinating—the so very fleshy, tender texture of Jerry’s insides. How easy they give, and how fucking _wet_ they are.

The pressure on his hand is so high he swears he can feel his knuckles rubbing against each other.

He spreads his fingers out a little more with every push-in. Threatens to unfold his hand while it’s still inside there, stretching the guy out until he has to take all of his hand, god, _all_ of it, how…

Jeff letting go of him (had he been moving his arm this entire time?), stirs Jared’s focus back out of its obvious target and into Jeff’s eyes—to Jeff’s hand now folding entirely, thumb tucked in, too, and Jared feels Jeff’s hand between his shoulder blades now and hears him humming to himself, the lost droop of his eyes that are on Jared, not Jerry, not Jared’s hand lodged in his ass—and Jeff nods his chin towards the latter.

Jared tries to swallow and he’s sweating so hard, feels it pooling in the dip of his upper lip and his armpits. He pulls his hand out, slicks his thumb in the lube/filth cradle of the other fingers before he angles back in. All five fingers crowded together result in a long, seemingly impossible shape, and he knows part of the fun is for it to hurt, and to _inflict_ said hurt, and, but. Fuck it.

Jerry’s ass swallows him up with only little struggle (right around that widest part; the nub of his thumb joint, the heel of his palm), and Jared’s balls pull dangerously tight at the tickle of Jerry’s sphincter around the soft inside of his wrist, the tremble and suction rippling around the entirety of his hand.

It feels like he’s getting crushed in there.

“Mh. Very ready.”

Jeff shifts to stand behind him, chin on Jared’s shoulder; first row. Clutches his right hand around Jared’s twig of an arm and pulls, just a little, enough to make Jared feel the resistance, and brings his left arm next to Jared’s to show him how to do this right. Or, how he wants him to do it.

Jared’s pretty sure nothing about any of this is, per se, ‘right’.

(Little thought to how utterly indifferent his dick and brain and obsession are to that fact.)

“Oh Jerry, Jerry. Sweet Jerry.” Morgan’s arm pumps back and forth, slow and steady, and Jared’s arm does the same. He’s not pulling out; Jeff won’t let him. Rather gets him deeper so Jerry’s sphincter won’t catch on Jared’s wrist. “Let me in there. I wanna have that.”

Jared’s arm feels like an extension of his dick. Feels himself ticking in his jeans every time his hand slots in there, every time he gets that much deeper.

They quickly have half his forearm in there.

Jared’s lost the ability to blink right.

Jeff threads his left hand under his armpit and plucks at his nipple, keeps rocking his arm with his right and hums the deepest satisfaction, grinds quiet and secret up against Jared’s ass. He’d be in there if it wasn’t for the jeans. Jerry’s whimpers pick up the faster Jeff and Jared rock Jared’s arm into him, and Jared’s still got his left on his ass to keep him upright. He feels him shuddering, sweating. How the lube gets thin and thinner, the drag rougher.

Jeff doesn’t pay that much mind.

Coos, “You’re so close, aren’t you,” and lets go of Jared’s arm to ball his hand into a fist which he then pumps forward, his left on Jared’s dick now and Jared’s throat clicks and he’s delirious, curls his hand in Jerry’s ass, and punches _in_.

Jerry’s making girl-sounds.

Jeff helps him establishing a rhythm, drags him in there almost to the elbow, and his left is just pushing down on the fly of Jared’s jeans, doesn’t take him out or try to grab him through the denim, jerk him off, just _presses_ , supplies counterweight for Jared to grind up into, and he wouldn’t even need that much.

Jared’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he tries to stay on his feet.

“Are you coming for me, baby?” and yeah god Jared can feel it, feels Jerry’s insides push-pulling at his arm, milking him out so hard his fingers are going numb, pulse cold and stiff and Jerry’s all hot inside, needy and sweat-slick and sobbing real happy tears into Jeff’s bed, Jeff’s gear, the sticky air of the room.

Jared’s hips give an unplanned, last hitch up against Jeff’s palm.

“There’s a good boy.”

~

Sometimes, Jeff keeps ’em until Saturday night. If he throws them out earlier, Jared’s sure to slip into the house as soon as the cab or car or truck or bike rounded the first corner, out of sight. If Jeff’s awake or not doesn’t make much difference—Jared’s putting the bedroom back together (or the living room), collects bottles and takeout containers to throw them onto the ever-growing piles of recyclables. Coffee first. Any kind of breakfast Jeff’s fridge or pantry may yield, later. Depending on how drunk Jeff still is, he deigns to actually come downstairs for breakfast, but Jared usually brings it upstairs.

Jeff Morgan is never shy to complain, inebriated or not. “Stop spoiling me,” he’d say, muffled through bacon or eggs or whatever was the greasiest food Jared could come up with that morning, “I’m getting too fucking fat.”

Hungover Jeff gives pretty awesome blowjobs, and tends to cuddle.

It’s a chicken-and-egg situation.

If Jared gets the Saturday mornings, the entire day is pretty much set up to be wasted in bed, nursing Jeff’s copious needs and discomforts which all are surprisingly easy to cure with foods and fucks. If the guest doesn’t limp home until evening (not as unusual of a situation), Jared takes their place instead if Jeff doesn’t choose to go out on that Saturday night as well. Jeff gets ridiculously drunk when sticking to staying in where he doesn’t have to worry about getting home. He lets Jared have one heavy drink per session, watered down with coke or whatever, which is pretty cool. He usually has one bottle of whatever himself.

There’s weeks Jared doesn’t get any of it, and there’s weeks where he hits all of them. Like a big fat winning streak in some bizarro sex bingo.

He’s long figured out that, even for a guy, his libido is quite exceptional. That his recovery time is a joke, and as much as Jeff gives him shit for it, it obviously draws him in like honey lures in any greedy fly. Ethics are a flexible concept. Jared’s okay with getting pushed too far every once in a while.

When Jeff’s been fucking him out for hours and he can’t even lift his head anymore he’s so worn out, when Jeff paws at his chest like he wants to dig in there and check Jared’s heart and has three fingers and his cock hooked up against his prostate, when he whispers encouragements and promises and stupid goddamn bullshit nobody can prove were even said the next day, then, god.

Yeah, he’s pretty fucking fine with that shit.

“You wanna come with?”

Jared’s brain considers the possibility that the question might have been addressed at him. He slurs, “Whu?” and falls off the couch trying to turn around.

Jeff laughs, the most awake he’s been all day. It’s nine PM. Alice Cooper snarls over guitar riffs, snarls over the two of them, the jizz-loaded air and Jeff’s possibly impregnating scent lost between leather and aftershave.

“You okay there?”

Jared nods his pounding head and hefts himself up on one elbow. Gives up reaching any higher than that, and squints up at the man, the too-bright ceiling light.

“So, what do you say? I’ll take you with if you drive.”

“What? Like, tonight?”

“No, next year. Of course _tonight_.”

“Hm, uh. Yeah, uh.” Jared frowns at his surroundings, disoriented, rakes his hair back over his head, behind his ears. He’s been out for awhile. When and where did he last wear clothes? “If that’s—you think they’ll l-l-let me in?”

Jeff rubs at one of his canines, studies his reflection in one of Jared’s strewn-around CDs. “You’ll be with me. There’ll be no fucking questions.”

~

“J-just a, a couple of ho-ho-hours.” Mom’s glare stays steady. Jared’s shameless. “Please, Mom. He’s gonna be l-looking out for me.”

“If he can even look straight anymore in a few hours.”

“Mom. Please.” He doesn’t care if she can smell the dick on him. If she sees the fresh hickeys climbing up his neck, the clumps of dried spunk in his bangs. If anything, it’d get her to send him out quicker. Jared peels his hair back behind his ear, tries his best puppy dog eyes (if the right for that hasn’t been long revoked). “Please. I’m _dying_. To d-do this.”

He’s already dashing up the stairs when she’s just started hauling in the air for her defeated sigh.

A quick wash-up in the sink—armpits, face, hands. He considers himself in the mirror and decides against a shave. The stubble has him looking kinda seedy but it does give those extra years his height is already hinting at. Deodorant, Dad’s aftershave just for show. He slaps that onto his cheeks before combing the worst mess out of his mop with Meg’s Barbie hairbrush.

He’s only got that one pair of shoes, so that’s easy. One of the darker and less ripped jeans, his most precious Alice In Chains tour tee, fresh socks now that he thinks about it. He fishes a black hair tie from the little bowl his sis keeps in the bathroom in a hurry, straps it over his wrist, and stomps back downstairs.

Generously, but not without rolling his eyes, he lets Mom talk him into bringing his jacket. It’s cold out, sweetie. Take care.

Jared’s fucking ready to pound nails with his dick by the time he swings the truck door closed behind himself. Grants a glance towards Jeff, already settled lazy in the passenger seat, and finds him checking him out with surprised amusement in his ludicrous expression.

Jeff croons, “Hey there,” and Jared tells him, “Shut up,” but grins as he buckles up and steers her onto the road.

It’s about an hour of a ride. The streets are pretty much deserted, no wonder at this hour, in this forgotten cul-de-sac of the world. Jeff’s turned on the radio to the same station he always tends to and takes the occasional sip from the bottle of jack he’s brought along.

They arrive at around midnight. Jeff talks him through parking in the rather tight spot that’s pretty much their only option and tells him he did good, not bad actually, once it’s done. They get out of the car and Jared locks her safely before jogging after Morgan. He jogs back just once to unlock her and throw his jacket back on the seat.

The club is nestled into an industrial area. Jared spots several more neon lights, various people following various routes. The building Jeff heads towards seems ominous, faceless. A small line presses along the brick wall and Jared grazes interested eyes as Morgan and him stride right past everyone else.

“Hey big guy.”

“JD. Hey.”

Jeff and the bouncer bear-hug each other with one arm. Jared tries his best not to look like he’s about to shit his pants and puffs his chest out once he’s being noticed, considered.

The bouncer tips his chin at Jared with a somehow permanent frown on those non-existent eyebrows. “That one’s with you?”

“Yep. You got one of those kiddie stamps for him?”

The bouncer nods, “Gotcha,” through the smack of his chewing gum and presses the same stamp he’s giving Jeff on the back of Jared’s hand, too. He opens the door for them and tells them, “Go right through,” and Jeff tells him thank you and elbows Jared in the ribs when he’s opening his mouth to do the same.

The music booms loud and surprisingly electronic. Jared tries to take everything in at once—the narrow hallway, the black walls, the red lights—and has to hurry to not get lost tailing after Morgan. The next door swings open and the bass overtakes Jared’s throat, and stomach, and balls, and the air is kinda heavy but the ceiling’s incredibly high, rises up to reveal a huge hall holding a huge amount of people. Jared gawps and stumbles after Jeff’s grip on his shirt, bumps into people left and right, but nobody seems to care, to even notice. The place is _packed_.

Morgan shoulders right through the crowd besieging the nearest bar and people do glare at them now, at Jared who stares right back at them with mortification on his face, and he tries to apologize but the music’s so loud he can barely hear himself _think_.

Next thing he knows, Jeff’s folding his hand around a bottle of coke, and clasps it shut.

“Watch your fucking drink, and don’t accept _anything_. From _anyone_.” He’s roaring at enough of a volume for Jared’s ears to distinguish from the blare all around them. “Don’t open your fucking mouth unless you want a dick in it. I’ll be over here if you need anything. Now go do your do, Forest.”

He’s pushed and spun and yeah more than close to be pissing himself like a fucking dog, throws a last unsure look at Morgan who’s shooing him away with the one and throwing back a shot with the other hand, and, yeah, okay. Okay. You’ve got this.

Jared struggles to a less crowded spot to get an overview on the place—he raises his soda to his mouth to take a deep gulp of it and feels a first layer of sweat coming on, tucks his thumb over the wide-open hole of his bottle and. Tries to accommodate.

People are dancing everywhere, but most of them in the middle of the room, wild and almost moving as one body; a _sea_ of bodies. The lights flash non-stop, and Jared blinks, irritated, agitated—colors, and chaos, and he’s immobile at the edge of it. A bystander. He’s not alone; people are crossing in both front and back of him, and he looks after some of them, and some look back at him, but they vanish in the crowd, and Jared’s attention turns back to the dance floor.

Nothing but guys. This is a gay club. Obviously it is, you moron. Some are topless, he realizes now, all ages and body shapes and the place swallows him whole. Nobody can see him anyway. There’s so many fucking people in here. What some of them do isn’t even dancing anymore. Holy shit, he can be perfectly invisible.

Another sip from his coke, and Jared begins pushing forward. Through shoulders and chests and faces, and he can’t pay attention to so many of them at once. They merge, become unimportant, irrelevant. He doesn’t know the song that’s playing, what band it might be, but the rhythm is hypnotic and drumming through him head to toe and sweeps him right along. His head starts bobbing first, then his neck, and it’s a fluid thing from then on he has not much control over once he lets it take him over.

He’s pushed and ground against from all sides, just another sardine in this tin, faceless, dissolving. He’s aware it’s happening so fast, and it scares him for a moment that fades just as quick as it came, and he’s already dancing, eyes twitching safe behind the cover of his eyelids as they chase the lights.

The songs flow seamlessly, feigning to belong together, defeating any sense of time. The occasional hand grazes him, the occasional torso or dick or elbow or ass, and his cock is blissfully hard in his jeans and he’s rocking in time with the beat, arms up at some point and he’s tall stretched out like that, overlooking the crowd if only he _would_ look. But there’s other tall guys like him, he’s not alone, he’s not outstanding.

The coke ends up empty eventually and Jared feels drunk from it, the lack of it, the throb in his throat and his legs and his numb fingers he pushes his sweat-slick hair out of his eyes with. His eyes do blink open now, starting to pull him back onto planet Earth and his body and where’s Jeff, where’s the bar, another soda and he can return here, lift right back up.

Jared spots him and begins to move with attention, pull away from his spot, and something holds him back, has him on the shoulder and he turns back to see what it is, who, and meets the eyes of some guy smiling at him with a nice big mouth, and he tells him something, Jared sees his lips moving and his eyes twinkling but Jared can’t hear a single word, just hollers his apology and shoulders him off, makes his way through the crowd.

People are looking at him, now. Jared holds a gaze or two, fascinated by the depth, the hunger in them, and his dick stirs just a bit, and he feels breathless hitting clearer air, farther from the main dancing.

Jared huffs and puffs, tosses sweat out of his eyes, his hair, slicks it back, keeps moving. The bar crowd is less excited for body contact and Jared holds his arms up in defeat, squeezes through whichever gap he finds to finally catch up with Morgan, still in the same spot, probably not the same glass.

Morgan finds him on a side glance, extends his arm to get a hold of Jared’s belt, and hauls Jared in, bartop digging hard into his belly and he oompfs, but he’s grateful for the newfound stability. Jared hears, “This is Jay,” and pushes his hair back over his head, again, tries to speak loud enough for Morgan to hear him and probably fails. Which isn’t dramatic, as Morgan’s signing something to the bartender and a new coke appears right in front of Jared mere seconds later.

He turns to Morgan and tells him, “Thanks,” mouth already half on the bottle as he’s squeezed on his arm, turns to his left, finds a guy smiling nice at him.

“Zach,” he says, or something like that, holds his hand up for Jared to shake and Jared does that, awkward due to little space and juggling the bottle as well as Jeff’s arm still wormed around him.

“You havin’ a good time?”

Jared nods at Morgan, feels his lips splitting with his smile, thinks he tells him that it’s awesome, but Jeff probably can’t hear him and it doesn’t matter either. His left shoulder’s getting pinched again and Zach’s holding a shot up for him, right under his nose, still smiling in that way Jeff does when he’s had one too many and is about to get his dick out. His smile breaks into a frown when Morgan’s snatching the shot for himself, and close-to pouts on Jeff’s sporadic explanation about drinking and driving. Jared gives the guy a remotely sorry face and lets Morgan pull him closer, into the spread of his thighs.

The guy’s claimed a seat, apparently. Presses the side of Jared’s leg into his junk and fishes for skin somewhere between denim and washed-out cotton, and Jared doesn’t interrupt him, gulps his soda, tries to read Morgan’s face that’s ambiguous between I Need Your Ass and I Need Another Drink. Jared tries, “What?” and sets the already-empty bottle down on the bar, unintentionally helps Morgan tucking his tee free with reaching his arms high to gather and tie his hair on top of his head.

The hairs on Jeff’s knuckles catch on Jared’s treasure trail and Jeff’s not speaking, just grinning lopsided, really fucking drunk and Jared should probably tell him he’s had enough. But then again when did Jeff Morgan ever listen to him?

Jared makes use of the momentary attention to shake his empty bottle for emphasis, and Jeff can’t even raise his hand as quickly as there’s already a familiar ice-cold of a press into Jared’s left arm. He turns to look at Zach, who encourages with a nod, and Jared raises his eyebrows but mouths his thanks, with Jeff still rubbing his bladder stupid.

Zach’s leaning in now, right up against Jared’s face. “You know Jeff?” and Jared can actually hear that, takes the opportunity to let some of his excitement bubble right out, turns to Zach’s ear and shouts, “Yeah, I’m his driver.”

“His driver?” Zach pulls back so Jared can see him laugh, and Jared grins right back, tells him, “Yeah, so he can get as shitfaced as he wants.”

Zach tells him, “That’s very nice of you, Jay,” and their cheeks slide together, Zach’s nose on the shell of his ear and Jeff’s face tucks against the other, kisses before it nips, and he asks Jared, “Should we fuck this guy?”

Oh, wow.

Jared gawps, sandwiched between bar and people and holds on to his drink, Zach’s arm draping over his shoulders to keep his attention, unaware of the conversation on Jared’s other side, and Jeff’s other hand is slipping around him just above the seam of his jeans now, one or two fingers peeling at it and he’s got his belly basically circled with both hands like that. Jared flickers to Zach, and he’s a tall guy, he really fucking is, classy shirt and white teeth and a beard so groomed it could intimidate a guy, and Jeff keeps talking, shouts, “He begged me to call you over, told him about you,” and his tailbone curls inwards as Jeff rubs his still-sore ass out over his jeans, and, this is all, probably. A very, very bad idea.

Zach ensures, “You’re the hottest guy in here,” and, “Love your shirt!”

Jeff will tell him later that ugh, gross, why didn’t he stop him, this place’s dark room’s the fucking _worst_ , but the only other option is the back of the truck, and they’re three huge guys.

People are stacked on top of each other or propped against walls all around them stumbling in, and not many even notice them, let alone pay attention. But, they’re three huge guys.

He thinks it’s Jeff who’s pulling his shirt off him because he’s got Zach in his face right now, got him catching him as he almost trips over someone’s leg, is panting hard against those pearly whites and tastes cigar smoke, tequila.

God why does this fucking shirt have so many _buttons_.

Zach croons at him to, “Fuck, look at you,” and Jared feels drunker than the both of them, has Jeff rucking his jeans down and sucks a surprised breath at being fucking bare to the knees already, surrounded by strangers and shit if he loses the tee, he’ll be so fucking pissed at Jeff, “What’re you doing, huh?”

Zach sucks at his mouth like he’s trying to eat it. Helps Jared getting rid of that godforsaken shirt to reveal the deep dark curls of hair on his chest, the fucking tight rip of his stomach that Jared runs his hands over immediately, he can’t help it, he feels so fucking good and excited and charged and _capable_ , Jesus, someone’s getting his ass turned out five feet away from them.

They hit a wall or something because they stop pushing on with a thud, and Jeff’s pushing up against his back, tips his ass out, crushes Jared’s chest between them, hard. Jared’s distracted everywhere, unable to pin down whose hand is whose, can just hold on and pray he’s rested enough since Jeff spanked the last drop out of him together with his consciousness those few hours back.

Zach’s hands push from cupping his face all the way down to grab his ass, between Jeff’s body and Jared’s and kneads him there, powerful and fuck he’s so fucking _huge_ everywhere, now that they’re standing and everything, and Jared hears and feels him growling—his ears are pretty much ringing still and the music isn’t far but he swears he could hear a needle fall right now.

There’s Jeff, chuckling into the back of his neck, getting a hold of his dick, and Jared gladly steps his legs out for that. Easy as any high school kid, probably. He gets Jeff’s bulge riding up his crack for that, and groans, still so fucking worn out he’d have to shift his legs all the way closed to not feel the blunt air creeping into his asshole. The obvious ass-fuck noises all around him make him dizzy in some weird-ass Pavlovian Reflex he’ll never be able to tell Jeff about without getting to hear it until he dies, has him craning his neck, shifting into Jeff’s fist, trying to hang off Zach’s neck.

Jared hears Jeff growling, “Suck his dick,” and he’d go down immediately if Zach wasn’t sliding down the wall _already_.

Oh, holy fucking shit.

Jared’s mouth falls open in half pain, half vertigo, as Jeff pushes him forward and up against the wall face-first, and Zach’s not wasting any goddamn time and swallows him down his throat until Jared feels the sharp dig of his nose into his bladder, and Jared doesn’t even have _air left to gasp_ , just fish-mouths with Jeff’s strength squishing him to the wall with one hand on the back of his head. His eyes roll and flutter and his hips buck, drive his nuts nice and tight up against Zach’s bearded chin and the guy _swallows_. That throat milks at Jared like he’s got anything left to fucking give, but Zach doesn’t know that, and neither Jeff nor Jared’s cock seems to give a damn.

Jared re-finds language with, “Hoh, ohshit, _Jeff_ , fuck, _wait_ —” but Jeff’s bumping his glans up against his guts four inches deep already before he can even begin to struggle; he sobs wet and wild and thrashes, weakly, pinned between them and Jeff’s grabbing a hold of his wrists, locks them tight just above his ass, and Jared’s instantly, full-blown okay with Jeff Morgan being enough of a pervert to be carrying around travel sized packs of lube in every fucking pair of jeans he owns when the asshole bottoms out in one sandpaper-sudden stroke, grinds into where there’s absolutely nowhere left to go despite Jared being forced to his tiptoes.

Jared howls like the girls in some of the less legal flicks of his collection.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, yes—”

“That dick’s gonna go up his ass so you better not fucking come right now.”

Jared shakes with his whine and wills every muscle in his body to get a fucking grip.

It feels all like too little and way too much time when Zach’s pulling off his dick, gives him a fucking show hollowing his cheeks and the low indirect light gives him the most dramatic face, paints an image Jared Tristan Padalecki will spend dreams on, will come to bucketloads worth of, a sight that _shapes_ him, _rebuilds him_.

Zach looks up at him like he’s ready to die, tall even on his fucking knees and shoving at his dress pants to somehow get them down.

Jared doesn’t know how Morgan manages to not pull his dick out despite them going down to the floor, despite being so drunk he’s making it close to impossible for Jared to get between Zach’s legs with how rapidly he’s knocking his dick up Jared’s guts. Zach’s eyes are on fucking fire and Jared’s air doesn’t reach his lungs right with Morgan turning him out, with Zach spitting fat and filthy into his palm and reaching between them, under himself and maybe fingering it into his ass, if at all, and the next thing Jared knows is that he’s pulled into a kiss, and that his dick gets rubbed over something hard and hot, nudged up, before he pops right through it.

Zach honest to god groans around Jared’s tongue and Jared’s getting his dick pushed deeper through that strangling grip, has Jeff Morgan dicking the life out of him and tries not to die; doesn’t even remember he’s got hands until Zach’s somehow gathers them, pulls them over his chest, between them, encourages Jared to knead at his tits and Jared does that, cock pulsing bare in this stranger’s ass with probably at least one person he can’t see watching them. All there is is the black of Zach’s eyes and pressured suck of his very much too-tight ass, the lack of hesitation on his mouth spluttering, “Do it, give it to me,” and Jared’s cock pulses fat, trapped, and he’s got to fight for every single fucking inch.

Last time he’s measured, it’s been nine of them.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” that’s Zach, and Jared might be blabbering too, gets his mouth licked and his cheek cupped and feels Zach’s legs scrambling to clamp around his sides, but he’s too skinny and Jeff’s too massive on his back, until he isn’t, not anymore—air hits his naked skin too-wet and he shudders, hips skipping forward and Zach whispers, “Yes,” gets his legs around him now and Jared shifts his knees out, digs them into the ground to get leverage to pound down right. Jared feels the sweat and the spunk pooling in the ridge of his spine, slopping down the backs of his thighs, and he’s laying it into Zach now, like this is right and important and all that matters. He’s wide-eyed and staring, mouth feeling drip-dry meshed up against Zach’s, dipping up for air, and his hands went from chest down to hips to pull him back on his cock, all of that easily six and a half feet of black beautiful man groaning porn, and that’s his, all his, _he’s doing this_.

Jared barks like someone’s knocking him up the back of his head with a bat as he comes, strains up and in and he’s lifting both his and Zach’s ass off the floor, fucks uselessly, stutterish, and his cock is clearly pulsing but he doesn’t think there’s anything coming out of him at all; it wouldn’t surprise him, not after today. It burns so fucking good it turns him inside out.

He’s coming back online right in time to feel Zach’s insides kicking at him like they want him out, fluttering and sucking and he hears, “Shit, fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming,” and slurs his eyes open just enough to get a glimpse of Zach’s furiously working fist on his cock, how the first pulse of it shoots up over his fingers, and. He just sits back and enjoys the rest of the ride.

“That’s my number,” smiles Zach, pretty fucking awesome definitely six and a half feet Zach carrying the invisible badge of J. Padalecki’s dick-cherry around his neck, and Jared’s heart flips and his dick gives a painful shiver and he might be in love with how fatherly Zach’s folding his useless sticky hand around the crumbled piece of paper with both of his own. Like a tiny treasure chest.

Last thing he’s ever gonna hear from Zach is, “Call me,” before Jeff Morgan detaches him from the wall and the guy, and he raises his hand in an attempt to at least wave goodbye but his wrist just flops, utterly useless.

Jared’s falling into the driver seat with his mouth open. He has to stare at the ceiling for a moment to grasp the reality of what just happened.

He uncurls his palm to reveal the scrap of paper, now crumpled, tacky with his sweat. He stares at that, too.

“Put your goddamn jacket on, it’s like fifty degrees out. What the hell is that.”

Jared snaps, “Don’t!” but Jeff’s already snatched the note from him. He tries, again, “That’s _mine_!” and Jeff’s squinting at it, trying to decipher its meaning, before rolling his eyes, collapsing back into the seat. “Kid,” he groans, one hand in his face now to knead between his eyes, “start driving, or I start  puking.”

They’re going a rough seventy, on the road for maybe twenty minutes when Jeff rolls his window down. Jared’s mouth opens, but Jeff’s flicked the paper out already, blink of an eye, quick as that.

“What the FUCK?! What are you DOING?”

“A favor,” grumbles Jeff, rolling the window back up, and he shouts, “Hey!” upon Jared clipping him on the shoulder. “Watch the ROAD, dumbass! Are you trying to get us KILLED?! Jesus! FUCK!”

“Why would you DO that?! You had no right to DO that!”

“Oh, gimme a break! Don’t you think I have my reasons? Did it—” Jeff belches “—did it occur to you, that maybe, maybe I _know_ him, that maybe I can, fucking, tell the freaks from the _bad_ freaks?! Fuck you, kid, you want some whiny fuckin’ faggot marching up and down your doorstep for the next couple’a years don’t come _crying_ to me…”

“Then—what—” Jared blinks, fucking furious. “Why did you, _you_ w-were the one who said we s-should—”

“Do you have any idea how fucking wasted I am right now? Hell, I would have bent your daddy over, I wouldn’t have cared.”

Jeff Morgan belches again in emphasis, and Jared hears him swallowing his bile back down with strained effort.

Jared grinds his teeth and looks back up ahead, straightens his shoulders, eyes on the road.


	9. Chapter 9

If Norman wasn’t over, Jared might have tried to address last Saturday’s night, but, yeah. He makes a point of gathering some of his shit out of the living room’s various nooks and crannies—CD’s, stray notebook pages. He’s aware he’s being highly dramatic, but A) he doesn’t mean it that way and B) Jeff Morgan is acting like a complete asshole, ignoring him entirely, and he can’t let that pass without at least a small comeback.

Norman worms out to the patio together with him and Jared gives him the stink eye. But Norman insists, “Can we talk?” He rucks the door closed behind them and upon request shares his Marlboros, so.

Jared avoids looking at the guy, stands while he smokes. Better make it quick, asshole.

“He told me what happened.” Norman speaks muffled through the cig he keeps wedged between his lips as he lights it. “I get why you’re upset, but he had his reasons. He has like,” Norman picks the cig from his mouth and blows the first lungful of smoke out through a ratty little smile, “a radar, or something. For the assholes, so.”

“He can’t just m-m-make these kinda dec-c-cisions for me.”

“Did I miss the part where you turned into the smart kid with the good decision-making skills?”

“He _brought_ me there,” snarls Jared, “getting hooked up w-was the entire reason, we.” He stops himself, glares back into the garden. He shakes his head. “I’m old enough to be reached around, b-but, not for picking on my own? Fuck him, honestly.”

“Jesus, can you stop being such a little bitch? He probably saved you from a load of trouble!”

Jared snaps, “Yeah, he can keep telling himself that, I don’t f-fucking care,” throws his smoke to the ground and stomps it out, gathers his backpack and stalks off.

After spending the day in the fort, he goes straight home. Mom looks at him suspiciously when he lingers around the living room instead of rushing back to Morgan’s, but doesn’t say anything.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Shut up, Megan.”

The more days he desists from popping over to Jeff’s, the more impossible the return becomes. The more important, and the more demeaning. He’d have to explain himself. Would have to admit to have been sulking like a little bitch, and Jeff would be a complete asshole about it and tease him forever.

It’s a dilemma. Because, hell, he forgot how fucking boring his life was before Jeff Morgan.

But he can’t give in. Not this quick, at least. Gotta let everything stew long enough now for it to really be a surprise, a charity act on his account, or it’ll be nothing but pathetic. It’s not like Jeff would be the one to give in.

But when Jared’s halfway through dinner and the doorbell rings, he gets the weirdest kind of twinge. He’s the first of the many confused faces to stand up, almost knocks his chair over in the process.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll see who it is.”

Relief and humiliation both kick into his too-quickly filled stomach at the sight of Jeff on the Padalecki’s fucking doorstep.

Jared’s got the door ajar just so. “What is it.”

“Can we talk?”

“Uh, we’re having dinner…”

“Who is it?”

Jared hollers, “No one,” over his shoulder and turns back to Jeff, and he hates that Jeff’s mouth turned a little more amused. “I should go.”

“You’re sending me away? Really?”

Jared hesitates. Scowls.

Jeff’s smile blooms into a grin. He’s talking soft. “Just a minute. At least let me apologize.”

Jared hesitates some more before he does end up cracking the door open all the way.

“Jared?”

“I’ll be right back. Just a minute.”

Jeff leans into the open doorway to the living/dining room and gives everyone a friendly wave. Jared pulls him away, upstairs. Feels the scarlet rising to his eyebrows as he hears Dad’s, “Who’s that?” and Megan’s not-air-quoted, “His boyfriend.”

Jared yanks the door to his room closed behind them. Jeff whistles as he takes in the room. “Stop that.” He half-heartedly shoves at Jeff’s shoulder, who barely budges, but turns his attention to Jared and Jared alone. Jared crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You wanna talk, then t-t-talk.”

“You’re right.”

Silence. Jared squints at him. “…And?”

“That’s it, you’re right.”

“What do you…I mean, _yeah_ , but…”

“It was an asshole move, I shouldn’t have done it without explaining myself first, I’m a disgrace to the human race, yadda yadda yadda. There, happy?”

Jared gawps. Is this…supposed to make him _less_ angry? ’Cause it’s not working.

Jeff adds, “It won’t happen again,” and stuffs his meaty hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. Looks slightly like Jared when he’s trying to weasel his way out of some shit he committed. Complete with the barely-guilty expression.

This shit would be so much easier if one of them was a little less of a stubborn asshole than the other.

Jared keeps glaring, keeps his arms crossed. Puffs his chest out and hopes it’s not too obvious. “It better not.”

Jeff Morgan’s probably reading him like an open book right now, judging by the way his lip lifts to present his canine to the non-existent light from outside the window. “But don’t make me say ‘I told you’.”

“Nah, don’t worry.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see about that.”

“You’re so full of shit, you know that?”

“You’re the third person to tell me that today, how weird.” Jeff’s gravitating towards him, just slightly. Is still smiling like nothing can touch him, especially not Jared and whatever heartfelt (and honest) insults Jared has prepared. “We haven’t seen each other so long your stutter’s gone?”

Jared explains, “It’s better w-when I’m r-r-really p-p-pissed, or, relaxed,” and he sticks to the version where Jeff is the one leaning in first for the kiss.

It’s a real fucking good kiss.

Jeff’s chuckling around Jared’s tongue. “With them downstairs? Kinky.”

Whatever decency it is that lets Jared push away from the guy, he should remember it the next time those poor-ass girl scouts ring their doorbell. “You done? T-talking, I mean.”

“Poured all of my heart out, sweetheart.”

“Good. Leave.”

Jeff laughs, and ruffles Jared’s hair after clapping him on the ass. “I’ll warn you,” he says, “the kitchen’s kind of a mess.”

~

Jeff’s been texting on his phone so much Jared’s very much prepared to get up and leave, make room for someone else. But Jeff beckons him over after finally putting that thing down, hums, “Hey,” and Jared lets him seat him atop the armrest.

Jeff takes his arm by the wrist and inspects it closely. Runs his palm over it and squints. Hums again.

“You got any plans for today?”

“No?”

Jeff smirks up at him.

Jared’s blood throbs south. “What.”

“There’s a couple razors upstairs,” says Jeff. “Everything below your eyebrows: shave.”

Jared can’t hide the confusion in his, “Okay?” but does get up to fulfill that quest.

He strips in the bathroom, throws everything into a pile. Snuffling, he opens the mirror cabinet above the sink and rummages around in it for said razors. Disposable ones, a couple of them. He frowns at them, unsure of what to make of all of this. Jeff’s never complained about body hair before.

Well, whatever it is, Jared’s not gonna miss out on it.

Standing in the tub, shower head dripping lukewarm and steady, Jared’s concentrating on not adding any more cuts, but all the scars and half-healed scabs on his legs don’t make it easy. Jeff joins him in the bath eventually and Jared’s dick hardens under this very medical attention.

Jared gathers his balls in the one hand and rinses the razor with the other, and. Looks down at his balls, and. At Jeff, who encourages, “Go ahead,” and Jared’s never done this before and his arms and legs and armpits feel real fucking weird, all slick and naked.

He takes a deep, nasal breath and goes to work. He only nicks himself, like, twice. God, it looks weird.

Jeff only ever steps in to help when Jared almost-slips with his forehead braced against the wall, bent over stupid to get at his ass. Jeff claps his hands off and takes over the razor, and Jared’s been real fucking hard for a while now, and pretends he doesn’t mind.

Jeff’s real fucking focused on his gash and Jared feels oddly ashamed. Spreads him open with his free hand and lathers some more soap up with the other, rubs at him to see if he missed anything. Shit, this better be worth it.

Jeff puts the razor away finally, gathers the showerhead to rinse the last soap off. Runs his hands up-down Jared’s (very very weirdly slick) legs, and Jared’s huffing against tiles, and doesn’t move. He knows better.

The water stops. Jared’s soaked completely and shivers, looks for Jeff’s eyes, but the guy gets up to open the mirror cabinet.

Jared shifts his ass out just a little more when he catches sight of the bottle of KY Jeff’s squirting into his palm.

Jeff comes back to stand right behind him, rubs the lube over his hole, works it in with twists of his fingers. Jared hums and lets his head hang, tries to pin down if he likes how this feels, if it’s different, better, worse.

Jeff gets his dick out eventually and Jared’s feet slip some, but he re-settles and Jeff’s balls-deep already, buried thick and wet and god Jared’s gonna get lightheaded in this position but he sure as shit isn’t gonna chicken.

They’re quickly worked up to a pace that forces Jared to get a hand between the tiles and his head to save himself from a mean bump. He winces, already close, but Jeff’s cutting him off with a firm squeeze around the naked base of his dick and rumbles a firm threat about how Jared _better not_ , so. He waits Jeff’s nut out restlessly, hips curled out urgent and damp-eyed. Trembles at how Jeff’s reaching around with his other hand, too, rubs the long-dripping tip of his cock once, twice, before letting go completely.

“Stay.”

Jared huffs, but nods. Hears Jeff disappearing, reappearing; doesn’t expect the renewed pressure on his asshole and pets around what Jeff stuffed him full of once he’s let up. A plug of some sort. Well, okay? He snuffles, uneasy on his feet, and Jeff wraps him in a moldy towel and rubs him dry sporadically.

“Get dressed,” he says, letting go of Jared’s shoulders. “I’ll be in the truck.”

Without body hair, every sensation feels multiplied. The scratch of his clothes, the softness—it’s overwhelming. Jared’s dick won’t go down, and he doesn’t try very hard to hide it as he hops into the driver seat. Jared looks over at Jeff with utterly helpless dedication. But Jeff’s on his phone again.

“Where’re we goin’?”

Jeff tells him to start driving. “Just lemme handle everything else.”

It’s an overcast kinda day, mild eighties. Jared’s shifting with the discomfort of the toy still caught in his ass, restless even though his dick gets bored eventually—they’re on the road for three long fucking hours. He’s finally got his license but no cop’s stopped them yet to actually take a look at it. He doesn’t know the city they’re hitting. Looks for answers in Jeff’s face when they’ve finally pulled into park in a nice family-friendly looking strip of downtown. Right in front of them is a café. Restaurants are cluttered nearby.

Jeff unbuckles his seatbelt, stores his phone away. Notices Jared’s curious stare, and narrows his eyes at him.

“What.”

“Is he a freak or s-something?”

Even smaller eyes.

“’Cause you’re nervous,” babbles Jared, and gets an unnerved sigh for it.

Jeff tells him, “Stop _doing_ that,” and Jared smiles as he tails after the guy.

They enter the café. Jeff picks a booth by the windows and gestures for Jared to sit next to him, aisle seat. Jeff orders coffee and Jared sits back, takes the place in, hyped again now that whatever’s gonna happen seems very much _about_ _to_ happen.

He’s busy eyeing the too-generous cleavage of one of the waitresses as Jeff leans closer.

“Your name’s Jack. You’re in sophomore year.”

“I _am_ in—”

“Don’t—interrupt me, you little—anyway.” Jeff sits back to sip at his coffee. He’s speaking quietly, hushed. “Same as always. You need to stop, let me know.”

Jared considers Morgan, who’s keeping an eye out for the entrance.

Again, “I- _is_ he, a weirdo?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let him be alone with you. Not a second, promise.”

So, this probably shouldn’t be getting Jared’s dick hard.

Hell, who is he trying to fool.

Jeff’s shifting more comfortable when a guy approaches their table, and Jared tries to find hints at what he’s like—tall, decent clothes, thinning hair. Intense eyes. He’s not looking away from Jared for a second, not even while sitting down.

“Hey Trev.”

“Hi.” No smile, no nothing. Glasses.

Jared gets an elbow into his side and huffs for the pain of it. “Say hi.”

Jared blurts, “Hi.”

Trevor’s eyes flicker to Jeff, back to Jared, stay there. “This is him?”

“Yuppp,” huffs Morgan, and raises his coffee back to his mouth.

Jared looks at Jeff, back at Trevor. Finds a strand of hair to tug behind his ear, waits.

Trevor’s eyes narrow as if he’s trying to figure something out.

Jeff grumbles, “Something you wanna share with the class?” and Trevor decides, “He doesn’t look too healthy.”

“Thought you liked them skinny.”

“I smoke a lot, s-so.”

Jeff elbows him, but Trevor’s lips curl to something that could be the beginning of a very, very shy smile.

“Well now. That’s an awfully bad habit, Jack.”

Turns out Trevor’s apartment is just next door. The stairway is suffocating, narrow, dark, and Jared’s buzzing with excitement. Morgan’s too relaxed, his face too unreadable. Jared’s gears are turning and turning trying to fathom a scenario worthy of Morgan’s watchfulness. Jared’s holding his dick down through the pocket of his jeans.

He feigns cluelessness as they come to a halt in what might be the living room—bookshelves and a fireplace, a sofa. Trev snaps his finger to gain Jared’s attention.

“Hands behind your back.”

Jared barely hesitates. Is facing Trevor, sees those eyes going down his body, lingering on the tent in his jeans.

Eyes back to Jared’s face. “How much did you tell him?”

Morgan chimes in, “Not much.”

“What did he tell you?” Trevor’s slowly circling the couch to get at the dresser behind it. “About me. About today.”

Jared shrugs, eyes peeled on the objects Trevor pulls out of the drawer—a pair of black leather gloves. How he puts them on, walks up to him.

Morgan pretend-cheers, “Surprise.”

“So you just have a very vivid imagination then, do you?”

Jared half-shrugs. Trev’s almost close enough to touch. “I guess.”

“My good friend Jeffrey here…” Trevor’s voice trails off as he brushes his gloved fingertips up Jared’s shaved arm. “He told me,” he hums, “you like it a little rough. Is that true?”

“I guess.”

“Jack.” Jared turns to Morgan, who’s helping himself to one expensive looking brandy. “How big d’you think the thing in your ass right now is?”

“Uh. Six or so inches?” A blind guess. Turning back to Trev, he finds the guy where he left him—close, and pale around the mouth.

He can feel his breath on him. The lack of warmth, and the fast grip he’s got on his arm.

“Forget about him. You only answer to me.” Quiet. Invasive. “Do you understand?”

Jared nods.

“Good.” Trevor steps back, lets go of him. Stalks towards the dresser. “Take off your clothes.” Jared does that. Trevor’s not looking at him. “Hands behind your back.” Jared does that.

Trevor comes up to him and secures something around his wrists; Jared’s skin pebbles with the noise of Velcro ripping open, mouthing back closed. Something clinks.

Trevor’s hand is pushing between his shoulder blades. “Keep your back straight. No slouching.” Jared does that. Tries to meet eyes with Morgan, but he’s on the other side of the room, in his back.

“I said to forget about him.”

“Sorry.”

“What was that?”

A little louder now, “S-sorry.”

Trev’s standing in front of him now, takes the sight of him in with his arms crossed. Cocks his head, considering. “He’s so docile.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“What’s with all the scars?”

“He does that to himself,” explains Jeff, and Jared’s dick throbs with the smooth drag of leather across his skin. “Wasn’t involved in none of that shit.”

“Fascinating.” Trevor’s eyes don’t come up to his face anymore. “Beautiful.”

Jeff Morgan snorts.

Trevor glares over at him. “Is your presence truly necessary?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“I choose to ignore your commentary from now on, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah whatever, suck my dick, Trev.”

Jared tries to suppress his smirk but judging by Trevor’s expression, he didn’t do very well.

“Now, where were we. Ah, right.”

Trevor retrieves some more shit from his ominous dresser and Jared can’t shake how all the buckles and leather straps remind him of the stupid dogs he’s walking every other day now. How he must look, all strapped up; ridiculous, but Trevor’s obviously into it. On contrast to Jared, but the equipment Trevor straps around his dick and balls certainly has his sympathy. It’s trapping the blood, adds a tight, urgent sensation. Yeah, he could get used to that.

Jared’s watching Trevor’s gloved hands cradling his junk. His cock looks violent, purple, against the numb black of the gloves. He sighs through his nose, since the mask Trevor put on him keeps his jaws locked.

“Such a big boy, aren’t you?”

Jared’s hips hitch into the touches. One hand stays on his balls while the other rubs lower, over the visible base of the toy still stretching him out. The contact jostles it and he shivers, closes his eyes against Trev’s deliberate pulls on it.

“I really like you wearing this. I might just leave it where it is for now.”

He’s pushing on it instead now, driving it that much deeper. It’s a lot of pressure and Jared lets himself get nudged forward, forehead to forehead with Trev and he can tell the guy’s getting wound up by this, can tell it by his breath.

“Let’s take this to the office. Follow me.”

Something behind him moves as Trevor gets into motion. Jesus, for a second Jared actually forgot Morgan’s still with them. He trails after Trevor as carefree as possible, and he doesn’t know what he expected if he expected anything at all, but ‘office’, that’s probably not the word the guy had been looking for.

If Jared could speak, he’d ask why the fuck this random-ass guy has a fucking torture chamber in his one point five bedrooms apartment.

Jeff nudges him past the threshold and Jared’s weirdly baffled. Okay, this guy’s a freak. Full-on. Like, dingo ate my baby crazy. But Jeff’s here. It should be fine. Right? Jeff wouldn’t get him into weird shit.

Or, like, the _bad_ kind of weird shit.

“Come here.” Jared does that. Throws uncertain looks at the contraption that’s hooked to the wall, and Trev chuckles, “Have you not seen something like this before? First time?”

Jared feels like rolling his eyes but his survival instinct tells him not to. So he just nods.

Trevor begins loosening various straps to tie them around Jared’s limbs instead.

“I’ll be gentle, then.”

~

“He reminds me of him. It’s probably the hair.”

“Who?”

“Have you spoken to Norman, recently?”

“ _Who_?”

“You know who. Norman.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry, Trev.”

“Sure. Tell him to give me a call. He seems to have troubles picking up his phone.”

“What a sad and weird coincidence. I’ll try to remember once I, y’know, remember who that guy is.”

Jared’s choosing not to gain their attention, enjoys just laying on the floor and relaxing, invisible. But he can’t fight back that goddamn cough anymore, and sure enough Trevor’s next to him immediately, petting through his hair.

Jared chokes that he’s fine but Trevor helps him taking some sips of water from a ready-held glass.

“How are we holding up, champ?”

Jared nods, swallows. Lies back down with a smile. He’s unsure how he’ll make it down these fucking stairs but that’s all the problems he has with his current situation.

God, he’ll be able to nurse on those bruises for days.

Trevor reminds him, “You did so very well, Jack,” and strokes his hair. Talks quietly, gently. “If you would ever like to repeat that…”

“He doesn’t.”

Trev keeps cooing to him, quieter now, even softer. “You should make your own decisions, don’t you think?”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Rustling from where Jared can’t quite lift his head to see. “Hands off. I’m taking him home, pronto. You’ve had your fun.”

Trevor chimes, “He says that _now_ ,” and curls his face into a snarl upon being rucked back by Morgan’s hand on his shoulder.

Jared’s not sure how he’s getting into his clothes, but Jeff gives up trying to tie his laces for him and just stuffs them into the side of his shoe before he heaves him to a stand.

“Good to have seen you again. And very nice to have met you, Jack.”

“Yeah, yeah, would you open the fucking door?”

Trevor advises, “You should work on your attitude,” as he does follow Morgan’s request, and Jeff spits, “And you should watch your back around me, Polanski.”

The door slams behind them. Various locks click into place, and Jeff rams his elbow into the door for pure emphasis. He almost drops Jared but they stay upright somehow with joined forces.

The booze is obvious in Jeff’s breath but he still gets behind the wheel. Pulls into a random drive-thru for burgers and fries, enough for four people. Jared scarfs his meal in relieved silence. Relieved that they’re by themselves again, mostly for Jeff’s sake, who’s still obviously shaken. Considering he wasn’t the one getting the shit beaten out of him, that says a lot.

Jared’s given up finishing his fair share, instead watches Jeff wolfing the rest of it down. Slurs, stupidly exhausted, “Why’d you even bring me?”

Jeff grumbles, after a while: “I owed him.”

“For w-what?”

Jeff takes a huge bite out of his seventh cheeseburger, and that’s that.

~

Jared’s peeking into the back of the Nissan. “What’s all that shit?”

“None of your business,” snarls Jeff, but does ask Jared to help him haul the shit upstairs.

It’s heavy as fuck. Weight discs, barbells, dumbbells—slightly rusted and covered in dust. Jeff says he got a great deal on it. Jared ends up carrying most of it into what had been a storage up to now.

They spend the evening cleaning the equipment. Or, Jared is, while Jeff’s making long-urgent repairs on the room’s ceiling fan. Jeff’s delighted like a child on Christmas once it starts turning. Jared, sitting on the floor basically in his underwear and oily with sweat, can sympathize.

“You know how to use all this?”

“My Mom’s into the military type’a guys, so.” Jeff’s propped up a mirror on top of a dangerously wobbly stool and watches his bicep bulging with the effort of curling one of the dumbbells upwards. “Let’s say I used a lot’a time _observing_.” Mirror-Jeff winks at Jared.

Jared’s mouth quirks into a lopsided smile. “Can you show me?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out. Not literally though. Here, grab that. You wanna make sure to keep your elbows still.”

He’s not gonna tell anyone about anything until he can lift at least as much as Jeff. Period.

… This might take a while.

~

“Can I tell you though when I have a bad feeling about a guy?”

“As long as you don’t—scream at him. Or, t-t-that kinda shit.”

“No screaming. Check.” Jeff’s holding his fist out for Jared to bump. Jared gives him a concerned look. “What? Don’t the kids do that anymore?”

“Please stop talking.”

Jeff admits, “Yeah, you’re probably right,” and climbs out the truck. Jared follows.

_Pluto’s_ not any less packed than it had been the last time. Jared feels better now though, at least he knows what to expect—and Jeff promised not to get drunk, so.

“I’ll be at the bar. Cream soda.” Jeff wriggles his eyebrows and Jared gives a sorry smile, lets Jeff pat his back. “You take care of the dancefloor. And no making out, I heard there’s been people sharing acid via tongue.”

Jared’s tonsil-deep with a guy in a Motorhead tee. Young, but not too young; probably college. Great ass.

The music is urging Jared on, pulses him deep and giddy and, shit, they’ve only been here a couple minutes. Jeff’s not gonna let him go back home this soon, is he?

Jared’s sweetheart pulls off his face to raise his fingers in a drinking gesture to his smiling fat mouth, and Jared nods, of course, whatever. They scramble to the nearest bar and Jared’s craning his head for Jeff, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Turning back, he’s presented with a held-out bottle of beer.

He hesitates before accepting it, and the guy clinks bottles with him. Jared drinks.

“Trey,” the guy says, and Jared shakes his hand. Says, dumbly, “Jared,” and Trey tastes like beer and decent dental hygiene and something Jared needs to take home.

Trey’s got him so hard he doesn’t know _how_ he’ll do it but he has to take a piss. _Now_. It’s a misunderstanding, Jared’s sure, but he doesn’t stop Trey from following him either.

Jared laughs stupid, helpless, perfectly fat cock in his hand in front of the urinal and wants to make a bad joke but does catch Trey making heart-eyes at it.

Slurs, instead, slightly breathless, “This isn’t gonna work.”

Trey finishes up himself, not all the way soft either but he manages it. Tells him, “I know just the thing,” and Jared doesn’t bother to tuck his dick back into his jeans with the porn going on all around them anyway as Trey pulls him into one of the stalls.

Jared slams him up against the wall with the force of their kiss, and snarls happy for Trey’s good-boy hand grabbing for his dick. Slurs, “Shit,” and Trey’s chuckling into his cheek, milks him so fucking good Jared’s almost okay with his bladder about to explode. He really shouldn’t have let Trey buy another two rounds.

“Shit. God. I really n-need to…”

“I got you.”

Jared’s sweating. Lets Trey ruck his jeans down farther, spin him around so he’s facing the toilet. Points his cock with the one and rubs his pelvis with the other hand.

Fuck, shit.

Jared’s gotta brace himself with his arm against the graffitied tiles.

He can feel Trey smiling against his throat. “Think of real, real sexy grandmas.”

Jared’s pretty sure he’s seeing God as Trey pushes his hand down.

He’s not sure what he’s gonna do, what he wants to do, but, a little paler than before and pretty fucking weak-kneed back at the bar, he grabs at the back of Trey’s neck and tells him, “You should go home with me.”

“Oh, should I?”

“Yeah,” grins Jared, and Trey’s expression says it all. What a little shit.

“So,” Trey says, “where do you live?”

~

It’s a struggle to get upstairs, but Jared guesses it’s somewhat of an honor (or a gifted apology) that Jeff’s letting them have the bedroom. He hears them raiding the fridge on a sidenote, the friendly chatter of people who know how to wait for something good.

He’s got rid of his jeans prior to making it to the bed, and all that keeps him from getting real angry with Trey for not keeping up with the pace is Trey’s reverent fist around his cock.

“Shit, get your dick out.” He says that but knocks Trey’s hand away doing it himself. Yanks at Trey’s belt and growls because it won’t budge, hears Trey giggling and, “Wait, wait, lemme.”

Trey’s got dishwater blond hair and a Mickey Mouse tattoo on the left side of his ass. Jared rubs his thumb into the latter, fascinated, and lets Trey pop kisses all over his face as long as he keeps his hand going.

They’re tripping over the bed just as Jared tries to form a comment about how cute Trey’s ass is, tattoo or not, and they end up yelping, laughing. Or, Trey is. Jared’s on top of him and reminded of his goal, and Trey’s silenced easy enough. Lets Jared push between his legs easy enough.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Jared’s slurring, eyes closed and swiveling his hips to get his dick lined up, feels it dragging where he wants it to be and feels Trey gasping, sighing, trembling. “Here,” he tells him, “right here…”

“W-wow, wait, uh—condom?”

Jared blinks, gathers himself. “Oh, uh. Y-yeah. Sorry. Sorry.”

Jeff keeps a loose assortment in the bathroom. Jared picks blindly, hopes it’ll fit (he’s bigger than Jeff but they don’t talk about it), rips the wrapper open in the corridor already.

He walks in on Trey fumbling with the lube and rushes, “Wait,” tosses the condom away again and climbs the bed, pulls at Trey’s legs, shivers, “Let me.”

Jeff’s attested him talent on his ass eating skills, but Jeff’s not a moaner for it like Trey is.

Doesn’t tremble and quiver this hard, usually sits on Jared’s face instead of letting him between his legs, but Jared’s got thighs pressed against his ears now and feels very fucking powerful with his face buried in this guy’s ass.

His dick’s so hard it’s going dangerously numb.

Trey’s been pushing at his head to dislodge him for a while now and Jared goes to retrieve the condom from the floor with a smile on his face, both before and after he falls flat on his face. He must be awkward with the condom because Trey’s joining in to help. They roll the latex down together, marveling the tight fit and Trey makes a soft little noise Jared’s gonna hear another few times before the night is over. He kisses him, filthy and wet and Trey lets him lower him on his back, knee between his now drippy thighs.

Trey’s up on his elbows and barely touching the mattress, ass resting in Jared’s hands, or, on top of Jared’s thighs, and Jared feeds his cock right in there. Remembers only halfway in, when Trey visibly seizes, that they should add some lube to this.

Trey’s murmuring about gods up against Jared’s mouth, and Jared knocks him full. Holds his legs up and away, stretches that body underneath him out nice and tight. Fun, to be on the other side of this for once.

Jared’s quiet, doesn’t have anything to say. Pulls Trey onto his cock, shuffles closer, until he’s got the guy bent against the headboard. Keeps flicking his tongue into his wet fucking mouth and ruts away; Trey fucking loves it.

He says that. Literally.

Or, that’s what Jared remembers, anyway.

“I’m gonna come,” all sobbed up and that shaky soft hand fucking his pretty cock, “Do it, do it, fuck me, fuck me—”

Jared’s laying into him on command, starts groaning himself when the spasms get him too good, fucking violent and he can’t get enough, rubs himself raw in there and has to heave for air when it’s over, when all movement is the throb of his balls itching up into his hips and he’s mouthing lazy at the crook of Trey’s neck.

Jared goes through three more condoms before he calls it a night.

~

Dad and Megan, sitting next to each other, don’t look like they’re related at all. Meg with her summer-child tan and Dad as pale as the night, safe in the shade of the sun blind, sweating in his polyester shirt. Meg’s having lemonade, Dad’s got beer.

“Are you in a gang?”

“Meg!”

“What, it’s a fair question!”

Jeff laughs and Jared’s throwing death glares at his sister. “I wish, kitten, I wish. Ah, thanks, Sharon, that looks _wonderful_.”

Mom pressure-smiles, “You’re welcome,” as she distributes the veggie patties and skewers.

Jared begins digging in. Keeps half an eye on Dad, who hasn’t said a word except for ‘hello’. But he’s calmly helping himself with the potato salad and doesn’t seem out for much more conversation than that.

Jared absently scratches at a bug bite on his collar bone. Hears, “Love what you did with the garden,” and doesn’t know if he should appreciate Jeff’s tries for small-talk or think of it as provocation against Mom. “Whole lotta work, innit?”

She informs him, “It’s a hobby.”

“Must be nice,” Jeff says. “To sit out here, in the evenings. Enjoying a cold one. Watching the fruits of your labor.”

“Well, you and your cars and bikes, isn’t it the same? He’s a mechanic, Gerald,” she adds, upon Dad’s confused search for eye contact.

“It’s more oil and dirt than anything else. But this? _Art_ , Sharon.”

Mom tells him to, “Stop it,” but, Jesus, she’s…actually flattered, isn’t she?

Jared notices Megan giving him a dead pan look, and returns his focus to his plate.

He’s refuses to get involved in any of this shit.

~

The lab from Garden Ave is seriously out to get his dick into the poodle from Market Street. Jared kicks them apart, and he swears the poodle gives him the ‘thank you’ stare.

They’ve gotta stop at a red light, which Jared utilizes to dig around his pocket for his mini map. The fucking Pomeranian yanks on his leash and Jared yanks right back, earns himself an accusing glare from the rest of the pack that actually behaved itself for once. Jared narrows his eyes at them and grits, “What,” but they don’t pick up on it.

It’s ninety going a hundred and Jared’s indifferent to the stares his bare arms get him. He’s got _Mudvayne_ turned down low so he can be semi-aware of the traffic around them, and as he stuffs the map back away and looks back ahead, he spots Scott, complete with shopping bags and his annoyed plastic MILF mom. She’s complaining to him about something, probably his insufficient amount of charity runs, Scott Jeremy, how are you going to make it to YALE with this kind of attitude, can you explain that to me.

Scott’s looking positively terrified of him, out here, in the real world, where he’s without his friends and his ‘better-than-you’ attitude, and Jared feels his mouth curling into a smirk. Sucks on his smoke again and throws the guy a kiss across the street.

Scott honest to god turns red while the stoplight flips to green, and Jared snickers to himself as he passes the odd pair. He yanks the Lab away from raising his leg up against the florist’s, and the dog yowls, but submits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for staying with these idiots (and me) until the end! From the beginning I knew that this series wouldn't get much attention due to the rare pairing, so if you found your way here, that makes me very happy ♥. (I enjoyed every minute working on this story.)


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